


Monopoly Over Your Mind

by xanderwilde



Series: The Brother I Never Had [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arkham Asylum, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Drinking, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Flashbacks, Friends to Enemies, Gen, Guilt, Hallucinations, Insanity, Insanity Gas, Medical Inaccuracies, Mental Breakdown, Multi, Other, Paranoia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Regret, Soft Jeremiah Valeska, Tetch Virus, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Valeskas being dramatic what else is new, again because this is gotham, all those fun feels, and other various fun things, and relationships, bc it's Jeremiah and we all know what he's like, but uh this is still gotham, for part of the story at least, occasionally, starts around season 3 and ends around season 4 finale, unhealthy amounts of codependency because that's how these kids roll, whump probably because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-05-14 14:26:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 143,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19275172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanderwilde/pseuds/xanderwilde
Summary: "He always comes back when it’s just you. In the night, when there’s no one around…that’s when you hear him the loudest. When he’s the most real. As if he’s in the room with you again, except this time he doesn’t need to try and kill you because you’re doing that to yourself by listening to him in the first place.He won’t leave you alone, not when you don’t have Bruce to save you from what’s happening in your own head.Because Bruce is the only thing standing between you and him."(Part two of "The Brother I Never Had" series)





	1. The Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple things about where this picks up:
> 
> -This fic will make more sense if you read the one that comes before it, "Inevitability", which is part of this series.  
> -Part 2 is set three years after the end of the first one, and starts up around the middle of Season 3 (I know I'm butchering the timeline but Gotham does that too, so)  
> -Bruce is now 16, Jeremiah is 18
> 
> I'm still working on figuring out the entire plot for this one, so I might not be posting daily updates but! I'll try really hard to post at least every few days if it's not every day, so stay tuned. 
> 
> (Title of this fic comes from "Play Date" by Melanie Martinez.)

**Chapter One**

 

_3 Years Later_

 

Dwight Pollard turned up the collar of his coat and shoved his hands into his pockets as he stepped out the door into the dark November night. His breath froze in the air and the wind was howling around the morgue where he worked, but his eyes were bright with excitement and his mouth twitched into an uncontrollable grin. Clutching onto the well-worn piece of paper he kept with him at all times, ever since he’d first cut it out of the local newspaper three years ago, he hurried along the path toward his car, his mind churning with inspiration.

_I’ve figured it out, finally, after all this time. We’ll get him back, it won’t just be pictures anymore, or clips of that footage from the police station._

_It’ll be him, really him, this time._

_What we’ve all been waiting for._

He turned the key in the ignition of the car and the engine sputtered to life slowly, creaking from the cold. Waiting for it to warm up before he drove anywhere, Dwight opened the glove compartment as he always did when he left work, leafing through the jumble of papers and other random things he kept in there until he found what he was looking for.

Pulling out another newspaper clipping, this one dated back several months before the one he currently had in his pocket, he held it out and surveyed it proudly, unable to keep a broad grin from stretching across his face. The picture grinned back, a police mugshot that had been released in the papers as a warning to citizens, back when the group calling themselves The Maniax had terrorized the city, and back when _he_ was still alive.

_But you’ll be alive again soon enough._ Dwight promised silently, nodding to himself. He carefully replaced the picture back where it had been hidden and shut the glove compartment with a snap. Backing the car out onto the road, he turned on the radio, listening to the evening police report crackling through the static.

“…Captain Gordon has reopened a case from several years ago involving the disappearance of several bodies at one of Gotham’s morgues. His decision to return to this case was prompted by a resurgence in reports on missing bodies, including reports from civilians saying that they witnessed those same individuals, all of whom had been pronounced dead, alive and wandering the inner city streets.”

Dwight cursed under his breath, shaking his head. “Gotta be more careful.” he muttered, turning onto the main road and driving back toward the city.

“However, none of these people have been found after being spotted, and Gordon says he will begin this investigation by personally questioning the eyewitnesses on what they saw and determining the validity of these rumors before he makes any further moves.”

Impatiently, Dwight switched the radio off, sighing. “Just our luck.” he said aloud to himself. _But it won’t be long now._

Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he dialed a number, one hand on the steering wheel as he slowed to accommodate the late evening traffic on the narrow city streets. The dial tone sounded for a few seconds, then stopped as it was picked up on the other line.

“Hey, Dwight, what’s up?”

“We’re gonna have to act fast.” he said, dropping his voice as if he was afraid of someone else hearing him. “You still up for this job?”

“Yeah, of course. I mean, you’ve been planning this for what, a couple years now? No way I’m backing down at this point.” The voice on the other line sounded almost indignant, as if it was offended that the other speaker even dare question his loyalty.

“Okay, good. You still have access to that vault in Arkham?”

“Yep. They lock it up for the night pretty secure, ever since that whole incident with Indian Hill and whatnot getting exposed last year, but they’ve still got their little treasure trove of bodies stored away where no one’s found ‘em yet. Shouldn’t be too hard to get in.”

“I still have some things to work out before we get to that.” Dwight glanced over his shoulder, paranoia that he was being spied on setting in, although there was no one there. “But it shouldn’t be too long now. Will you be on call if I need you?”

“Sure. I’ll get a couple other guys to help. Where do you want us to meet you when the time comes?”

“That warehouse by the docks no one uses anymore. The one that’s got all that old electric equipment. I’ve been doing my…” he looked back again, berating himself for being so uptight, “…work there lately, and I think I’ve got everything right.”

“Okay.” The voice on the other line was half-eager, half-scared. “Well, I’ll see you then. Let me know when you think you’ll be close to finishing.”

“Thanks.” Dwight listened to the click as the line was disconnected, then tossed the phone over onto the passenger’s seat, gripping the steering wheel in two hands.

“It’s gonna be a big day.” he muttered to himself, a nervous giggle escaping between words. “A big day for us all.”

The engine revved as he sped up, swerving around a line of cars backed up at a red light. He tapped the wheel with his fingertips, resisting the urge to turn on the radio and listen to the rest of the report. Right now he was only focused on one thing, and there was no time for distractions.

Not when victory was finally so very, very close.

He reached under the lapel of his jacket to touch the patch he always wore pinned to his shirt, the same as the sticker he kept on his locker back at his workplace in the morgue: a grinning face, the eyes narrowed and catlike, the smile stretched wide and laughing and unmistakably familiar to any resident of Gotham City who kept up with the news or had any knowledge about the local criminals from the past few years.

Dwight smiled too, and the smile grew into a laugh, the sound echoing through the car as he drove toward his apartment, the street lamps casting pools of golden light on the pothole-marked streets.

_Long live Jerome._

 

\+ + + + + + +

 

“Bruce, what the actual hell.” Selina bounced impatiently in the back seat of the car as Bruce turned it off of the highway and onto an obscured side road. “I don’t know what sort of Febreeze commercial shit you’re trying to pull, but I’ve had enough of this.” 

Bruce glanced back at his two passengers, an eager smile on his face. “Just a minute more. I told you, it’s a surprise. And I don’t want either of you figuring out what it is yet.”

“Yeah, but it’s not _my_ surprise,” Selina argued back, her eyes obligatorily closed, as they had been the entire time since she’d gotten into the car, at Bruce’s request. “So why can’t _I_ look?”

“Because you can’t keep your mouth shut.” he grinned. “You'd spoil it.”

“You are the _worst.”_ she sighed loudly, slouching down in her seat. “Why couldn’t you just tell us what the surprise was back at the manor?”

“I wanted Jeremiah to see it for himself.” Bruce replied, bringing the car to a stop.

“I’m sure he’d be fine if you hadn’t gone through this whole dramatic process, right, Miah?” She elbowed her companion in the side and he pushed her away with a half-smile, eyes also closed.

“I don’t care. We’ve only been in the car for a minute anyway.”

“It feels like hours.” 

Bruce pulled the key from the ignition and stepped out. “Well, good news for you, Selina, you can open your eyes now.”

Selina shot up and out of the car, and Jeremiah followed behind her, both of them staring around, bewildered, at their surroundings. They were in what looked like the edge of an old quarry, woods on one side, the city skyline visible on the other. There was a small, box-like building a few feet away, and Bruce motioned eagerly for them to follow him.

“That’s the lamest surprise I’ve ever seen.” Selina complained, sidestepping a fallen branch that stuck up from the ground. “What even is it?”

Bruce turned the door handle and stepped aside. “Come and see for yourself.”

Jeremiah stopped, his gaze fixing on Bruce as realization and disbelief swept across his features. “Bruce, there’s _no_ way you…”

“Don’t spoil my surprise by protesting it.” he interrupted, opening the door wider. Jeremiah shook his head admonishingly.

“Bruce. I told you I wasn’t going to let you…”

“I’m a billionaire, Miah.” he laughed, pushing both his friends in through the door. “Cut me some slack.”

Jeremiah turned back to face him, standing just inside the building, where a flight of stairs disappeared downwards and turned into a long hallway. “You didn’t seriously do this, did you? If this is still about the Wayne Plaza thing you mentioned…what was it, years ago, then…”

“Consider it a gift, then. And no, you can’t argue with me about it. Besides, it’s already built. What do you want me to do, tear it down?”

He shook his head slowly, uncertainly. As if he couldn’t really process his friend’s words. “You are unbelievable, Bruce.”

“Does that mean you like it?” he asked, closing the door behind them. Selina, who had been staring around, poked her head over Jeremiah’s shoulder.

“Miah, he’s just given you a freakin’ _house!_ I mean, it’s a really weird house, but still. Give him a hug or something.”

Bruce pushed past her, flipping on the light switch. “ _Do_ you like it?” he asked again, and Jeremiah nodded wordlessly, following him down the stairs.

“Is it…”

“A labyrinth.” Bruce supplied proudly. “One of the ones you drew. When you showed it to me and said how you wanted to turn it into a house someday, I found it again and commissioned this place to be built.” He turned the corner, looking back to make sure they were following. “I memorized the way in, but it’s pretty much impossible to figure it out unless you already know where you’re going. I mean, you know that, you’re the one who drew it.”

“But…how did you…”

Selina waved a hand in front of the redhead’s face. “Shh, shut up and be grateful. He _likes_ spending money on things like this, trust me.”

“And here’s the best part.” After what felt like an endless series of twists and turns through the identical halls of the underground building, they reached a metal door and Bruce typed in a code on a keypad. The door slid open silently and he ushered them inside. “Check _this_ out.”

Jeremiah looked around, eyes wide behind his glasses. “Are you serious?” was all he could say, his expression astonished, as if he wasn’t sure he was awake or not. Bruce nodded, following his gaze around the workshop-style room, complete with a desk, book and file cabinets, and whiteboards on the walls. 

“Of course.” He paused. “Do you…you do like it, don’t you?”

For a moment, he wasn’t sure. After all, Jeremiah had always been so attached to him…maybe he didn’t want his own place, or thought Bruce was trying to push him away. To dispel any sort of confusion on that front, the latter hurriedly added, “I just thought, since you always said you wanted a place like this…”

“Bruce, it’s amazing.”

He relaxed then. “Amazing” was a word Jeremiah had sworn off saying, declaring it was used too much and he didn’t want to fall into the trap of using nothing but commonplace words, so if he would ignore his own established rules to compliment something Bruce had given him, then he was truly affected. 

“I was hoping you’d think it was okay, I…”

“Okay?” Jeremiah echoed incredulously, running a hand carefully over the top of the desk. “Is this even _real?”_

“I had them make it with extra security features added on. It’s…well, it’s not going to be an easy place for anyone to get in unless they’re supposed to. It’s probably the safest place in Gotham. Just like you’ve always talked about.” There was an unspoken meaning behind Bruce’s words, an allusion to the memories he knew still haunted his friend to this day. 

They both knew there was more to this than either of them were saying aloud…even if the past was far behind them, Bruce knew Jeremiah had never been able to completely lose the paranoia and anxiety caused by his brother…he never spoke of Jerome, didn’t even bring up any subjects that might be remotely connected to him, but Bruce had come to realize, no matter what he did to fix things, they would never be the same after what had happened three years ago. 

Bruce had wanted desperately for his friend to have a chance to live without being afraid of a memory…even if Jerome was dead, his twin couldn’t truly forget about him, and Bruce knew it. He’d thought that maybe Jeremiah would be able to at least _feel_ safer if he had a place like this, carefully hidden from the world, not because he needed to hide, but because it was the only way he could feel like no one was coming after him. Catching the look in his friend’s eyes, Bruce felt a surge of happiness at the light he saw there…this was a place without any sort of traumatic memories attached to it, a place for him to get a fresh start at life, after everything that had gone wrong. He’d never complained about living in Wayne Manor, but Bruce knew Jeremiah would always associate it, inadvertently, with the darkness of the past. And he hadn’t wanted that for him…hadn’t wanted to contain him to a world where he would be forced to remember times he would rather forget.

Selina broke the contemplative silence between them, perching on top of a file cabinet and investigating the locks on the top drawer. “Do you really want to live here all alone?” She looked around critically. “I mean, won't you get lonely?”

Bruce looked at Jeremiah. He knew he liked to be alone, tried to stay away from crowds and strangers as much as he could, not one to start up a conversation with someone unless he knew them very well. Even Detective Gordon ( _Captain_ Gordon now, he reminded himself) was never met with much warmth from the redhead…at first Bruce chalked it up to the man being a reminder of what had happened with Jerome, but the he realized over time that Jeremiah preferred to only be around those he considered an equivalent to family; Bruce, Selina, and Alfred. Anyone else was met with suspicion, and Bruce couldn’t blame him for that, not after what had happened with Galavan three years ago.

“I won’t.” Jeremiah answered Selina, only half paying attention to her question as he explored the hidden compartments in the desk with wide, eager eyes. 

“We’re still invited over though, right?” she asked, hopping down from the cabinet. He looked up quickly.

“Oh, of course, I mean,” he paused, trying to collect his thoughts, and Bruce saw he was overwhelmed at the prospect of everything happening at once. _Maybe I should have told him before._ “It’s not even _my_ place, it’s Bruce’s…”

“We’re only about a mile away from the manor.” Bruce pointed out, and Jeremiah gave him a grateful look. “It’s practically an extension of the house, really, if it makes you feel better to think about it like that. I just thought that maybe you’d want it in a spot that’s more out of the way than not.”

The redhead nodded, looking back down. Bruce couldn’t read his thoughts, of course, but he caught a glimpse of sadness on his friend’s face. _Did I say something wrong?_ It was hard to tell sometimes with the redhead…the smallest things could change his mood quickly, and although he never blamed Bruce for anything, the latter would always feel guilty for dimming his happiness by saying something he shouldn’t. 

It was just impossible to know what sort of things would affect him now, because it was impossible to know what he was thinking.

On Jeremiah’s part, he was wishing the meaning behind Bruce’s words was true.

_You don’t have to be around anyone you don’t want to,_ was what the young billionaire had implied, but he didn’t know, _couldn’t_ know that that wish would never come true. No matter how far away Jeremiah hid from everyone else, shut himself away, kept out of sight…he would never be able to escape the person he most wanted to.

Because that person was stuck inside his head.

Even three years after Jerome had died by his hand (a weight he’d carried alone, unable to bring himself to admit the truth to anyone, and it had only grown to a heavier burden over time, sometimes to the point of being unbearable), he still heard his brother’s voice in his thoughts, sometimes so real that he would truly forget he was dead. Jeremiah couldn’t resign himself to the fact that _he_ was the one forming those thoughts, because it wasn’t really Jerome, Jerome wasn’t forcing him to hold those pointless conversations ad arguments that constantly ran through his mind day after day and night after night…it was just him, only him, and that somehow made it harder to bear. 

It only served to remind him of what his brother had told him so many times.

How, in the end, they were the same.

Jeremiah had always insisted it was a lie, not only to Jerome, but to himself as well. Because sometimes, he almost believed it…against everything he had taught himself, everything he’d made himself so certain of over the years…sometimes, when he heard Jerome’s voice whisper in his thoughts, he almost began to admit his brother was right. 

He would never go so far as to outright accept that they were alike…partly because he was afraid of what might happen if he _did._ Something told him that would be the breaking point, the final tug that would tear his mind apart, and when his mind was all he had left, he couldn’t risk that. Besides, he told himself that creeping belief was only fueled on by Jerome himself, because that voice in his head _had_ to, in some extent, be Jerome. The words he spoke, his mocking, laughing tone, the way he countered Jeremiah’s every thought as if he only existed to cause conflict… _that_ was Jerome how he remembered him to be. Everything he did was shaped off of what he had been like while he was alive, and even if it was Jeremiah’s imagination that allowed him to push his way into his brother’s thoughts, Jerome was the one who had started it all.

That was the line Jeremiah walked every single day, wavering back and forth between listening reluctantly to the voice of his twin he couldn’t help but hear, and staunchly insisting that there were no similarities between them whatsoever, despite having no one to prove it to but himself. Even if Bruce didn’t know about it, or have a clear idea of what was going on in his friend’s mind, Jeremiah knew he sensed the conflict whenever it arose, and would try to distract him until he could forget about Jerome, at least for a moment or two. 

Part of him was thrilled about this place Bruce had given him…it was everything he’d dreamed of, and more…but he also felt a twinge of uncertainty about it all, although he pushed it away quickly, telling himself he was just being ungrateful. Still, the thought persisted in the back of his mind, even as he tried to ignore it.

_If it’s just you here, he’ll come back._

_He always comes back when it’s just you. In the night, when there’s no one around…that’s when you hear him the loudest. When he’s the most real. As if he’s in the room with you again, except this time he doesn’t need to try and kill you because you’re doing that to yourself by listening to him in the first place._

_He won’t leave you alone, not when you don’t have Bruce to save you from what’s happening in your own head._

_Because Bruce is the only thing standing between you and him, and if you’re alone…_

“Well, you can count on _me_ dropping in when I’m passing by,” Selina was saying, and Jeremiah didn’t notice how tightly he was holding onto the edge of the desk until then. He relaxed his grip, promising himself he wouldn’t get so lost in thought next time, not when his friends were with him and he had no reason to think about Jerome. “Save a place for me on those rainy days, won’t you, Miah?”

Jeremiah smiled at her, pushing away the worry crawling at the corners of his thoughts. “You can come by whenever you want to, Selina.” He shook his head with an incredulous laugh, the words sounding foreign and strange to him. Talking like some sort of homeowner, as if his friend really needed his permission. Besides, knowing Selina, she would get in if she wanted to, permission or not.

“Oh, let me show you the other rooms.” Bruce said eagerly, leading them out of the workshop. “There’s a kitchen, too, and a guest room I had them add on…”

Jeremiah paused in the doorway, looking back. It _was_ everything he’d ever wanted…so why was there a twinge of unease tugging at his heart that he couldn’t quite ignore? _Are you really that scared of him still? So scared that you’re not willing to be alone because you know he’ll start talking again?_ He shook his head at himself. _Don’t be ridiculous. You’re better than that. And besides, that was three years ago. You have to move on. He’s just a voice in your head._

_You can’t let him control you forever._

Forcefully shoving those thoughts out of the way, Jeremiah followed Bruce and Selina down the hall, jumping as the door closed behind him. He rolled his eyes at his own tenseness, brushing it off as nerves for being someplace he wasn’t familiar with. _You’re not going to start this again. Looking over your shoulder at every turn. Not sleeping at night because you’re afraid of what will happen when you close your eyes. Worrying that someone is watching you, waiting for the right moment to leap out and shoot you in the head._

He’d taught himself to stop thinking those things, the fears that had involuntarily risen to his thoughts as a reflex even after the situation with Galavan had ended. It had taken him nearly a year to begin to ignore them whenever they arose, but eventually they _had_ gone away. Now, however, the paranoia came flooding back, and Jeremiah’s shoulders slumped in defeat as he stifled a sigh.

_None of it was ever really gone. Just forgotten for a while._

_You can’t really change anything that happened, or the way you are now because of it._

_But,_ came the next thought, _Bruce has always had faith in you. That you would be able to put those things behind you. He’s always told you things would be okay again someday._

_He wouldn’t ever lie to you, would he?_

Straightening up, he went to find Bruce and Selina, ignoring the faint, familiar whisper in the back of his head that was starting up again, just as it always did when he was alone.

Because as long as he had Bruce, he could forget about Jerome.


	2. All In Your Head

**Chapter Two**

 

“Boy, if I’d known how easy it is to get stuff from billionaires, maybe I would’ve reconsidered tryin’ to kill Brucie boy all those years ago.”

Jeremiah’s head shot up, clutching onto the notepad he had been writing formulas on. The workshop room was dark except for the one light he’d left on at the desk he was sitting at, and his eyes scanned the place nervously, despite his efforts to ignore the familiar voice that seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. 

_I knew he’d come back._

It had been a day since Bruce had shown him the underground house, and Jeremiah had been pleasantly surprised when, even after Bruce and Selina had left and he was alone, there wasn’t even a word from Jerome…well, from the Jerome in his imagination. He’d been certain that the moment there was no one else around, he would start to hear his twin again, but there had been nothing all night, and the following day had been quiet as well.

Until now.

“I mean, I ain’t calling anyone a sugar baby, but I also don’t think rich folks just toss out houses left and right to everyone they meet, so…”

_God, why does this have to happen to me?_

Jeremiah tried to think about something else, but the voice was too loud to ignore. “But if it gets ya what you want, who am I to judge?”

Tensing at the sound of footsteps behind him _(it’s all in your head, just your mind playing tricks on you, you know there’s no one really there, it just feels like that because you’re scared),_ Jeremiah gripped the pencil he was holding tighter and tried to not let fear show on his face.

“What do you want now?” he murmured, his voice echoing softly in the silence. _Don’t you realize, you’re only talking to yourself. That’s all it ever is. Nothing about that has changed._

_You’re the only one here._

“Oh, I don’t really _want_ anything.” Jerome’s voice was closer now, so close that Jeremiah felt that his brother was right behind him, and it took every ounce of self control to not turn around. Because if he did, then he would be giving in to the deceit of his own mind…letting it control him.

Acknowledging that some part of him really believed it was his brother, here with him. Not just a figment of his imagination.

Because every day, ever since he began hearing Jerome’s voice in his head, it became more real. The illusion grew stronger, and as much as he hated to admit it, sometimes Jeremiah couldn’t quite separate what was real from what his mind was trying to make him _think_ was real.

_You’re doing this to yourself. Making it harder than it needs to be. Just ignore him._

But that was easier said than done.

“Why are you here, then?” he whispered, and he was positive he _did_ hear the floorboards creak as the footsteps drew closer. _He’s not really here, he’s not here, it’s just you…_

“Wanted to see these sweet new digs. I mean, c’mon, we’re family. Don’t I deserve to be a part of this too?”

“No, because last time I checked, you were dead.” Jeremiah muttered, still staring straight ahead even as the voice came closer.

“Aw, now that’s just hurtful, Miah. Since when does being dead keep us apart?” Jeremiah shivered, the voice was speaking right next to him now, and he could feel the vibrations in the air with each spoken sentence. “You know nothing can come between me and my dearest darlingest brother.”

“Which isn’t a word.” Jeremiah pointed out, quickly getting up and switching on the overhead light to the room. Studying the designs on the whiteboard for the battery he had been working on, he tried to ignore his twin’s voice that wouldn’t stop talking.

“What do I look like, a dictionary?” There was a laugh from behind him. “Anyway, I thought you might want some company when you’re all alone in this big ol’ empty place.”

“No thanks.” he said between his teeth, still refusing to turn around. _Please, just leave me alone for once._

“Can’t do that.” Jerome replied instantly, laughing again when Jeremiah froze. “What, you forgot I’m stuck in your head? That I can hear everything you’re thinking? There’s no point in trying to hide anything from me, Miah, I know _everything.”_

Jeremiah said nothing, but his heart sank as he began to realize that this was never going to change. If it hadn’t for three whole years, there was little chance that it would now. And if Bruce wouldn’t always be around for him, there was nothing to distract himself from his own thoughts.

“Now that’s just sad.” Jerome commented, and Jeremiah ran a hand over his face, some of the fear giving way to exasperation. 

“What?”

“You don’t realize? I mean, c’mon, bro, you’re supposed to be smart.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked impatiently.

Jerome sighed dramatically. “Bruce. I’m talking about Bruce. You’re obsessed with the kid.”

Jeremiah frowned. “No, I’m not.”

“Without him, you’d have nothing left, and you know it. You think he’ll fix things, he’ll always be there for you, he’ll never leave. What happens when he does? What’ll you do then?”

His brother shook his head, pushing away the panic that welled up in him at the thought. “Jerome, stop.”

“See? You’re admitting it. It’s what you were just thinking, isn’t it? That’s pathetic, Miah.”

“Stop.” His voice wavered.

“Make me. Look, I know you think if only you have Brucie around, maybe you can make _me_ go away, right? You rely on him to distract you from the fact that _you_ , Jeremiah, are losing your mind. And there is nothing,” he broke off into a giggle mid-sentence, “that you can do to stop it.”

“Shut _up.”_ Jeremiah snapped, turning around sharply to face the voice behind him, then freezing in place as his face drained of color. “Jerome…?"

  
The other redhead sat on the corner of the desk, swinging his legs nonchalantly as he grinned at his brother across the room. “See what I mean?”

He backed up against the wall, feeling like he had just been hit in the chest and had the breath knocked out of him. “No, you’re…”

“Still dead.” his twin supplied, nodding amiably. “I’d say your imagination’s had a bit of an upgrade, though. I guess I should thank you for that.”

Jeremiah stared, his heart beating much too fast. “How are you here?” he whispered, his voice catching in his throat, but he knew the answer.

_You did this. You let him exist. Built him up in your head through the years and now you can’t push him away. You made him more real, every time you_ let _him be real, and now you can’t even contain him to your own head._

_This is your fault, and now you can’t go back._

“Can’t deny I’m good company though, right?” Jerome…or rather, the nothing that was there that looked like Jerome…grinned, kicking his heels on the desk. “You’ll never be lonely again.”

Wordlessly, Jeremiah bolted for the door, racing down the hall toward the small living room around the corner, as if somehow he could run away from the illusion his own mind had conjured up. He stopped short in the doorway, staring, as he saw Jerome lounging on the couch, flipping through the TV guide that sat on the side table.

“Oh, Miah, how many times do I have to tell you, you can’t get away from me. Because _you_ brought me here. You kept me alive because you couldn’t forget about me, and now I’m here to stay.” He tossed the TV guide over his shoulder and sat up. “You’ve gotta appreciate the irony…you wanted so badly to get away from me that you _killed_ me, but then you brought me back because you realized you can’t exist without me. I’m a _part_ of you, and you know it. You need me.”

“I don’t.” he retorted, gripping onto the doorframe tightly. “I don't need you, and you’re lying. You’re not alive, you’re just a particle of my mind, nothing more. And that’s all you’ll ever be. You aren’t really _here.”_

“Debatable.” Jerome replied good-naturedly. “If I’m real enough for you to hold a conversation with me, I’m satisfied.”

“No, because it’s not you, it’s…” he trailed off, turning away, hearing his brother give a low chuckle.

“See what I mean? You and I are inseparable, because you can’t be alone. You _had_ to bring me back, imagination or no, because you know it’s true. And here I am!” He stretched his arms out, like a ringleader announcing the next act of a show, and Jeremiah closed his eyes, a thought rising unbidden to his mind before he could suppress it.

_Am I really going crazy?_

“You catch on quick.” he heard Jerome say, and remembered too late that his brother could hear his thoughts because he was a part of them himself…there was no hiding anymore. “But don’t take it too hard. You’ll get used to it. _I_ did.”

“I’m not crazy.” he said aloud, opening his eyes. His voice reverberated in the still air, and suddenly he was alone again, Jerome nowhere in sight. 

But then again, he had been alone the whole time.

_I’m not crazy, I’m not, I can’t be crazy because I know he’s not real, I know it’s just my imagination…_

He slumped down on the corner of the couch, drawing his knees up to his chest and staring up at the ceiling.

_But if feels so real._

_God, it feels real._

He drew a shuddering breath, trying to calm his nerves. This wasn’t any different than how it had been for the past three years…Jerome had been in his head a long time, and even if there was no going back, he had to learn to live with it. Somehow, some way, he had to.

Because, as much as he hesitated to admit it, he knew his twin was right. If he had learned anything in his life, those long years trying to stay hidden from his brother only to be found again, the way Jerome’s voice echoed behind every thought he ever had now…

They could never really be kept apart forever. 

\+ + + + + + +

“Ugh, smart people stuff.” Selina shook her head impatiently, pushing aside the notebooks Jeremiah and Bruce were poring over together. “I’m gonna go check out the kitchen and maybe steal some lunch if you actually keep anything to eat around here. Have fun doing nerd things.” She bounded out the door and into the hall, her footsteps echoing lightly behind her.

They were both silent for a minute, still absorbed in their work, then Bruce cleared his throat. “Do you like it here?”

Startled at being jerked out of his thoughts, Jeremiah looked up. “What?”

“Do you like it? This place, I mean. It’s not…well, you know, too lonely around here when you’re by yourself?”

_Lonely, huh, I wish. I’d take that any day than being followed around by my not-really-here twin who’s been dead for three years and won’t leave me alone._

That wasn’t exactly a thought he could voice to his friend, however, not if he didn’t want Bruce questioning his sanity. And he hadn’t even brought up the topic of Jerome between them for a long time…there was no way he was going to change that now.

So instead he smiled, even if it didn’t really reach his eyes. “I don't mind being alone.” 

_As long as I have you,_ he wanted to add, but didn’t. Bruce was his friend, after all, but after the things Jerome had said to him the other week _(no, what you said to yourself, dammit)_ he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.

_Because I’m not obsessed. And I’m not dependent on him. No matter what anyone thinks._

_He’s my friend…what’s wrong with that?_

Unaware of the thoughts racing through the redhead’s mind at the moment, Bruce nodded, looking relieved. “I wouldn’t ever want you to feel lonely,” he said, and for a second, Jeremiah forgot about Jerome, because when it was just him and Bruce, it didn’t feel like his twin existed anymore, not even in his own head. All that mattered was his friend, who was more like a brother than he had ever known, and it made the thought of Jerome feel more like a distant memory rather than a living nightmare that wouldn’t ever leave him. 

“I just wanted you to have a place where you could feel like you’re safe.” Bruce added quietly, and Jeremiah nodded, knowing that there was nowhere he could ever go where he would be rid of Jerome, but appreciating the sentiment nonetheless. 

_Don’t be an idiot, you_ are _safe. He’s just in your head, he can’t hurt you._

Absentmindedly, he ran a hand along the faded scar on his arm, his expression distant. No _matter what he did to you back then, it’s over now. It’s been over for a long time. You have to move on._

“I know it’s hard to forget about what happened.” Bruce said, looking down at the desk, and Jeremiah glanced at him, wondering if he had sensed his thoughts, or had just been thinking of the same thing. “But I thought maybe this would help, you know? You could do so much with your engineering skills, and I wanted you to have somewhere to work on the things you care about. And maybe that could help you…” he shrugged, looking up for a moment, “help you forget.”

“Yeah.” He adjusted his glasses and flipped the page of his notebook, his heart twisting in his chest at his friend’s sincerity. Something in him whispered, _You see? You do depend on him. For everything. You think he’s some sort of hero, someone who’ll always come running to the rescue whenever you need it, no matter what. Do you really want to be like that?_

The words stung, because it wasn’t Jerome’s voice mocking him, it was his own. And somehow that was worse, because it made everything more real. With Jerome, he could brush it off as insane ramblings most of the time, disregarding that they all came from his own mind. 

But he knew _he_ was sane, and so his own thoughts must hold a grain of truth in them.

“I am surprised but pleased,” Selina announced, reentering the room with a box of Pop Tarts in hand, “that you are not the health food nut I assumed you would be. Honestly, if Alfred could see the inside of that pantry, he’d probably have a stroke and then spend the rest of the day sending you various baked goods.”

Jeremiah grinned, relieved to have a change in topic. “Doesn’t seem to have deterred you much.”

“I said surprised but pleased.” she replied, stepping over a pile of papers scattered on the floor. “Emphasis on pleased.”

Bruce eyed the box in her hand. “Those things are bad for you.”

“Well, some of us,” she looked at him pointedly, “don’t have butlers cooking up gourmet dinners for us every night. Shocking, I know.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Selina, you literally show to up dinner six out of seven days a week. Alfred’s basically your butler too.”

“I don’t pay him a salary, so I can’t claim him for myself.” 

“Fair enough.” Bruce stood up, stretching his arms over his head. “Also, that reminds me. Alfred wants me to look over that statue we found.” He glanced over at Jeremiah. “I told you about that, didn’t I? The owl statue?”

He nodded, trying to push away the pang of uncertainty he couldn’t help feeling whenever Bruce mentioned the work he was doing to discover his parents’ murderers. For the past month, he had been going to great lengths to track them down, and although Jeremiah never tried to stop him, knowing how much it meant to his friend to find out the answers he needed, he would worry that Bruce would find himself in real danger someday, and that something truly bad would happen.

It was partly selfish, he admitted to himself. He knew the real reason he was so worried…he didn’t want anyone else taking Bruce away from _him_. Of course he was concerned for his friend’s safety, but it extended more deeply than that.

_You don’t want to lose him._

_Because you don’t know what you would do without him._

“But I can come back tomorrow if you’d like.” Bruce was saying, and Jeremiah tried to summon a smile in response, fighting to keep the worry out of his eyes. “I just need to get to the bottom of all this, you know?”

He didn’t know, not quite. He wasn’t sure why Bruce wouldn’t leave the matter of his own parents’ death alone…Jeremiah could barely bring himself to think about _Jerome’s_ death, his brother whom he’d only ever been afraid of. But Bruce couldn’t seem to let it lie, he ran headfirst into danger to figure out what had really happened, no matter what it took.

“It’s about justice.” he’d explained to Jeremiah once, when the latter had begged him to be careful in his investigations. “I can’t let this go because then these people will get away with their crime. They _need_ to be brought to justice.”

Jeremiah had partly understood, but he hadn’t been convinced. _Sure, I guess justice is important, but risking your life for it? It can’t be worth that much._

But he wasn’t going to question Bruce’s decision on the matter, not when he saw the look in his friend’s eyes that said very clearly nothing could persuade his mind otherwise. 

“I hope you find what you’re looking for.” he said, and Bruce smiled at him.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Come on, Selina.”

“When did I get mixed up in this?” she asked, following him out of the room. “I help you _one_ time and suddenly you expect me to be some sort of right-hand-man for everything you do. Well, get this, Bruce, just because I got that statue for you doesn’t mean I’m going to automatically follow your orders from now on…” Her voice faded as they turned the corner of the hallway, footsteps receding into the distance. Jeremiah listened to them leave, then turned back to his notebook, looking over the battery design he and Bruce had been talking about.

“Thought they'd never get out." came a voice in his ear, and his shoulders slumped in sudden defeat, shooting a resentful glance at the redhead who had shown up out of nowhere and was currently lounging over the desk with one elbow resting on a stack of blueprints. “You spend so much time with those two that you don’t leave any for me.”

“Here’s a thought: I don’t _want_ to spend time with you.” Jeremiah gritted, resisting the urge to push Jerome off the desk and onto the floor, knowing he wasn’t really there, and it would be ridiculous to try. “I didn’t ask for you to be in my head all day.”

“You’d better be glad I don’t get offended easily.” Jerome pouted, following his brother out of the workshop and into the living room. 

“I’m trying to offend you. Maybe you’ll go away then.” This had been going on for two whole weeks, whenever he was alone in the house with nothing to distract himself from his own thoughts. And although it was terribly unnerving to _see_ Jerome as if he was actually there, actually alive, there was still a part of him that knew it was just his own imagination, and that his twin, real as he seemed, couldn’t really hurt him. Jeremiah still hated it whenever his brother would appear without warning, interrupting the silence he so desperately wanted to last, and he couldn’t ever fully push away the fear that lingered in the back of his mind, built up from years of self-conditioning, but it was some comfort to know at least Jerome wasn’t _really_ there, and couldn’t really do anything to him.

_Even though that only proves you’re accepting the pitfalls of your own thoughts,_ he told himself reproachfully, with a twinge of unease. _You’re not losing you mind…not as long as you know it’s not really Jerome…but you’re not doing anything to fight it._

_Isn’t that almost worse?_

_Shouldn’t you at least try to put a stop to this?_

But Jeremiah knew, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself, that the reason he wasn’t fighting it was out of fear. 

Fear that he would lose.

So he endured the times his twin’s voice would break into his thoughts, forced himself to believe that Jerome wasn’t capable of harming him because it _wasn’t_ Jerome, and tried to act as if everything was normal.

It _could_ be normal, for all he knew. At this point, Jeremiah wasn’t completely sure what normal should be anymore.

“Anywho, how’s life with your friends?” Jerome perched on the arm of the couch and stared at Jeremiah, who turned on the television to try and drown out his brother’s voice. Undeterred, Jerome continued, “I always did see you as a third-wheel kinda guy.”

Jeremiah, slouched down on the couch and clicking through the channels that flashed across the screen, couldn’t help glancing over at his grinning twin. “What?”

“Oh, c’mon, are you really that stupid? It’s so _obvious.”_ Jerome rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Brucie boy and whatsername...Selina? Aren’t they a _thing_ now?”

Jeremiah frowned, shrugging. “That’s none of my business.” In fact, he had been wondering the same thing, noticing the way Selina’s gaze seemed softer now when she looked at Bruce, how when the latter smiled at her his eyes lit up in a way that made Jeremiah smile too…but they hadn’t said anything, and he’d assumed everything would go on as it had before anyway. 

But there was something about the way Jerome spoke that sparked an unidentifiable sort of anxiety in him.

“Isn’t it? I mean, I’d be worried if I were you.”

“Why?” He glared at the TV screen, wishing he would think before he spoke. After all, this was only making matters worse, talking to Jerome _(no, talking to yourself, don’t make him real)_ like this. 

“Oh my God, Miah, you are the most oblivious thing ever. If Bruce and Selina are together, then why would they want to spend time with _you_ anymore? That’s what happens with relationships…you know how mom used to be when she’d find a new guy. Just flat-out forget about _us.”_

“That’s not even remotely similar to this.” Jeremiah said sharply. “And anyway, they’re my friends. They wouldn’t leave.”

_They wouldn’t, right?_

“Look,” Jerome scooted closer to his brother, who flinched away, glaring at him, “where exactly do you fit in with them? Why would they have time for you if they have each other now? It’s different when you’re just friends…but when it comes to _dating_  and all that jazz _,_ then whoever’s left is dropped by the wayside.” He leaned toward him. “That’s you, by the way.”

“Since when did you become the relationship expert?” Jeremiah retorted angrily, crossing his arms. He didn’t want to admit that Jerome’s words were getting to him, didn’t want to lose faith in his only two friends…his _best_ friends he’d ever had. But he couldn’t help but listen…what else was he supposed to do? It wasn’t as if he could simply ignore Jerome anymore…he had a hard enough time not devolving into a constant state of panic whenever he saw his brother…or at least, the illusion that looked like him. 

_But he’s lying. He’s just trying to push you away from them._

“It doesn’t take an expert to see what’s right in front of you.” Jerome said airily. “And I’m telling you now, Bruce will stop caring. He’ll stop thinking about you, because you won’t be important to him anymore. Why you ever were in the first place, I don’t know.”

“You’re just saying that. You don’t have any proof.” Jeremiah hated how unsure he sounded, how scared. “You don’t even…”

“But it’s _not_ me!” he interrupted, his gaze suddenly frightening in its intensity. “It’s not me.” he repeated, and his voice was low, steady. It didn’t sound like him anymore, and Jeremiah suddenly recognized his _own_ voice, tensing at the sound and turning away.

“It’s _you.”_ Jerome said quietly, in that same tone. “I am _you,_ Jeremiah, a part of your mind. And you know it. Whatever I say is what _you_ are thinking, and there’s no way to deny it. Because it’s the truth.”

“That still doesn’t prove anything.” he insisted, almost desperately. “You’re just hoping they’ll leave me behind so you can torment me without interruptions. It’s just you being selfish, and that’s all.”

“There _isn’t_ a me, broski. It’s still just you. You’ve let this happen to yourself. You know that right now, you’re sitting alone in your underground living room, holding a conversation with someone who isn’t really here. _I_ admit I’m not here, but you can’t, because then you’ll realize that you’re the one thinking these things. You’re becoming like me, and you don’t want to face that.”

“I’m _not!”_ Jeremiah’s voice broke and he stood up abruptly, clenching his hands into fists to hide the fact that they were shaking. “Just shut up about how you think we’re the same, I’m sick of hearing about it, because it’s not true, it’s all just a lie. And even if you’re not real, even if you’re just something from my head, it’s still _you,_ because you _did_ exist. You _made_ me like this, you ruined everything I ever tried to do, and I know you’re never going to go away. I know that. But I’m not like you. I’m not, and I’m never going to be, no matter how many times you try to tell me. So just _stop.”_ He didn’t notice the helpless tears that had formed in his eyes until he blinked, and brushed them away with the back of his hand roughly. “Please stop it, Jerome.”

“Jeez, if I wanted drama, I would’ve gone to the movies.” Jerome rolled his eyes unsympathetically. “And you’re avoiding the real question at hand. What’re you gonna do when your friends leave you? That’s what I wanted to know.”

Jeremiah turned away, staring at nothing. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he could speak, and when the words came out, they were barely louder than a whisper. 

“They won’t leave me. Bruce wouldn’t do that.”

“Ah, Brucie.” Jerome echoed. “Someday that kid’s going to let you down, and what’ll you do then? He’s not perfect, Miah. And he’s not always gonna be there for you. Why do you let yourself get so attached?”

Jeremiah shut his eyes, wishing uselessly that it was somehow possible to muffle one’s own thoughts. His anger had faded away as quickly as it flared up, and he only felt tired now, all the happiness from before, when his friends had been over at the house, drained away. 

“Because he’s all I have left.” he whispered, knowing it was pointless to try and hide the thought from Jerome…he would figure it out anyway. “He’s…”

_Family. The family you never had. That’s why you can’t lose him._

“Huh, nice to see you appreciate all the brotherly love I gave you over the years.” Jerome remarked.

Jeremiah rolled his eyes, not dignifying those words with a reply. Jerome took the silence as an opportunity to speak again.

“Well, that’s nice and all that you care so much for the kid, but face it, Miah, it’s all pretend.”

“What do you mean?” he asked against his better judgement.

“He’ll never _really_ be everything you want him to be. You can make believe that you have a family, but you know it’s not true. You just don’t want to face reality.”

“Which is?” he asked indignantly, furious that Jerome was trying to tear his entire world down around him with his accusations. _Why can you never just let me live on my own? Why do you have to step in and ruin things every time?_

“The reality,” Jerome replied without hesitation, his voice getting nearer behind Jeremiah, who didn’t turn around, “is that you’re alone. It won’t be like this forever. With your  _friends._ Sooner or later, you’ll end up alone.” He laughed suddenly, sharply, and Jeremiah flinched at the sound. “But then, you know all about that, don’t you? After all, you left _me_ back when we were just kids.”

“Because you tried to kill me.”

“I mean, yeah, I guess. But you get the point. You’re just trying to hide from what you know is coming. Because even if you think Bruce will be your friend forever and all that sappy nonsense, it’s not true. No one’s really like that.”

“You’re just saying that. You just want to make me feel bad."

“If that’s what you want to believe.” Jerome replied with maddening agreeability. “But you know I’m right. You're the one thinking it, after all.”

_You’re not. It’s just lies. Lies that don't mean anything._

_He won’t leave you behind._

_He can’t._

Jeremiah tried to stifle the doubt that was creeping into the back of his mind, tried to shut out what Jerome was saying to him. He suddenly felt so helpless, so confused about everything. Was he really thinking those things? After all, it wasn't truly Jerome speaking to him...it was just his mind playing tricks on him. But  _he_ couldn't have been thinking that, because he didn't believe it. He knew Bruce and Selina weren't going to abandon him, and he knew Bruce would still be his friend no matter what happened. 

That was how it  _had_ to be...he didn't know what would happen if things changed. 

_ Don't listen to him. You know Bruce. And you know he won't push you away. _

_ You can't let him push you away. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts/comments/criticisms/anything else :)


	3. In The Darkness

**Chapter Three**

 

"Selina's coming over today,” Jeremiah said over his shoulder as he leafed through one of the many notebooks he kept stacked on the desk. “So I’d appreciate it if you’d maybe, you know, go away for a while.”

Jerome laughed, lounging against the file cabinet and fiddling with one of the locks Jeremiah kept on the handle. “You want to be _alone_ with her, hmm?” He batted his eyelashes, grinning wickedly, and Jeremiah ran a hand through his hair, exasperated.

“Bruce was busy today. He had stuff to do for his investigation he’s working on. You know that.” he added as an afterthought.

Jerome nodded conspiratorially. “Oh, right right. How convenient. Good luck getting the girl, though. I don’t think you’re her type.”

He shot an irate glare at his twin. “Seriously, Jerome, shut _up._ Selina’s over here all the time anyway.”

“Well, jeez, you don’t need to get so touchy. I’m just tryin’ to help you out.”

“Help me out.” Jeremiah echoed derisively, rolling his eyes.

“I mean it, bro! Think about it. What’ll Brucie have to say about you hangin’ out with his girlfriend?”

“First of all,” Jeremiah retorted, tapping his fingers on the desk as his irritation grew, “no one’s said anything yet about her being his girlfriend—"

“Oh _,_ so it’s an even playing field for you and your billionaire buddy then?”

“ _Secondly_ ,” he continued, trying to ignore Jerome, “Bruce doesn’t care if she’s here. He knows she’s just my friend. That’s how it’s always been.”

“He really trusts you that much, huh?” Jerome sounded skeptical. “You might be overestimating the quality of your relationship with the kid, dontcha think?”

Jeremiah frowned. “Why wouldn’t he trust me? About anything?”

  
Well, you’ve gotta admit, you’ve never been the most honest of friends.” There was a smile in Jerome’s voice. “That’s one thing we don’t share…I was _always_ honest. But you…well, you didn’t even tell him your real name until you _had_ to, remember? Not to mention you left _me_ out of the picture.”

“But I explained that to him. And he does trust me. I would never lie to Bruce.” Jeremiah looked back and caught the expression on his brother’s face…Jerome was grinning at him with one eyebrow raised.

“You’d never lie to him, huh? Kinda funny, considering.”

“Considering what?” he snapped, slamming the notebook down on the desk. 

“Oh, you _know_ what.” Jerome said maddeningly, grin still in place. “You still keep secrets from him."

"I don’t…”

“Then who,” his twin countered, sauntering up behind him and leaning on the desk to make eye contact with Jeremiah, “who was it that  _really_ killed me?”

Jeremiah was silent, his face flushing with guilt as he tried to ignore Jerome’s question. But his brother wasn’t giving up.

“You know you lied to him.” Jerome continued, his voice soft yet accusing. “You tricked him into believing you were innocent. But you’re a _murderer,_ brother dear, and you can’t deny the truth, even if you lie to everyone else. You _know_ what you did.”

“That’s different…” Jeremiah tried to argue, but Jerome cut him off.

“Is it? Different from what, exactly? From all the other stories you told him about yourself, all the lies you used to mask who you really are, because you were scared of being the brother of a _lunatic?”_

“I was scared he would push me away!”

  
“Which proves my point exactly. If you have to pretend to be someone else around Bruce, then what makes you think he would trust you?”

“He knows who I am now. He’s known for a long time. And he understood why I…why I didn’t tell him the truth at first. That was _your_ fault, Jerome, I was hiding from _you,_ so if anyone is to blame…”

“But you’re still pretending. You’re still playing the innocent act. How long is it gonna take you to realize you committed a _murder,_ Jeremiah? Can you really keep lying to him like that?”

“There wasn’t anything else I could do! You were going to kill me!”

“That’s not why you did it though.” Jerome’s voice was low. Jeremiah buried his head in his hands, exhausted.

“It doesn’t matter why I did it. It’s not like you can come back anyway. It’s over now, and I’ve moved on.”

  
“Oh yeah, you’ve done a great job of that, I can see.” Jerome smirked. “Talking to the person you killed in your own head and thinking they’re really there is a guaranteed sign of recovery.”

“Look, I’m not telling Bruce about what happened. Not because I’m afraid it will ruin our friendship, because he’s not like that, but because I don’t want to talk about what happened then. That’s _all.”_ He wished he could believe his own words. Jerome shrugged.

“Whatever you say. Don’t blame me when he decides to leave you behind someday. That’s what all friends do."

“Shut _up!”_ Jeremiah interrupted him, throwing his notebook forcefully at his brother, who ducked. A voice came from behind him, making him jump in surprise.

“What’s going on with you?”

He whipped around to see Selina standing in the doorway, staring at him with confusion written across her face. At a momentary loss for words, Jeremiah looked back, searching for Jerome, who was nowhere to be seen, then turned back to his friend.

“I…uh…there was a...spider.” he explained half-heartedly, hastily retrieving his notebook from where it had fallen on the floor.

“Didn’t know spiders could talk.” she commented, and he glanced back at her.

“What?”

  
“You told it to shut up.”

“Oh.” _You idiot, this is what happens when you aren’t careful. You never should have paid attention to him in the first place. You know he’s not real, and now Selina’s going to think you’re insane too._ “Um, I was talking…to…myself.”

“You told yourself to shut up?” She raised one eyebrow, and Jeremiah’s shoulders slumped in defeat. 

“Yes?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” he said, maybe too quickly. 

“Because you seem scared.” she continued, not unkindly, but Jeremiah wanted to disappear into the floor. _Why weren’t you more careful?_

“It’s just…” He stared down at the desk unhappily, trying to think of the right thing to say. “It’s just that sometimes I…I think I see _him.”_ His voice grew quieter with each word, and he couldn’t look up at Selina. Couldn’t bear to see the look in her eyes he knew would be there, the one that said she thought he was going crazy.

“See who?” she asked after a pause, then added as realization dawned on her, “Jerome?”

He nodded, despondent. _Look what you’ve done. Are you trying to push everyone away or something? Because that’s what you’re doing._

“He’s not here.” Selina said quietly, her voice serious. Jeremiah ventured a glance up at her, and she wasn’t laughing at him, wasn’t looking at him like he was insane.

“I know. I…I know he’s not. But sometimes it feels so real…” He trailed off, clutching the edge of the desk and looking down again. Selina was silent for a moment, then replied,

“But it’s not. Don’t trick yourself into thinking it’s real. That’s not gonna help you.”

Jeremiah ran a finger down the spiral binding of his notebook, his mouth twisting to the side. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” she said sharply, shaking her head. “I’m just saying, don’t spend your time worrying about things that aren’t there. That’ll only make things worse.”

“I know.” He followed her out of the workshop and into the living room, watching her click on the television and climb onto the back of the couch as she asked, “You’re making dinner, right?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, glad she’d changed the subject. “I mean, I can. I only have ramen right now, if you don’t mind that.”

“Do you ever buy food anywhere that’s not the dollar store?” she scoffed, shaking her head. “Or do you just have a thing against making smart life choices?”

“Maybe I just really like ramen, did you ever think of that?”

“I’d believe it, ya weirdo.” she laughed, turning on the local news channel, which was met with static, pieces of footage breaking through every few seconds, but so blurred that it was impossible to tell what any of it was. Frowning, she tilted her head. “What’s up with that?”

  
He came over to stand behind her. “I don’t know. It usually works.”

There was a crash on the TV, and voices murmuring in the background, and Selina's eyes narrowed. “That sounds super not normal.”

“What do you think’s happening?” he asked, confused. She shrugged, eyes fixed on the screen.

“Dunno. Maybe they started recording before they were supposed to go on air?”

  
“Do you think—" He broke off as the camera swept into focus, zoning in on a black-haired figure sitting on the edge of the reporter’s desk, staring straight into the lens. Selina and Jeremiah stared in respective disbelief and horror.

The man was wearing a severed human face as a mask, his dark eyes wide and wild. He was saying something, but the sound wasn’t being picked up, and they could only hear snippets of his voice crackling through the speakers. Selina opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. Jeremiah’s hands curled around the back of the couch, leaning forward to catch what the man was saying.

Then the static disappeared and the picture steadied, the voice coming through clearly now, and Jeremiah felt like his heart had stopped in his chest, the world slowing to a standstill around him when he heard the man’s next words.

“My name is Dw…” he began, then cleared his throat and started again.

“My name is Jerome.”

_Why is he saying that, what does he mean he’s Jerome, it’s not, it’s not Jerome but why would he say that? It’s not Jerome…Jerome’s dead, and he’s staying dead…_

He glanced numbly at Selina to see if she was seeing and hearing the same thing as him…for a moment he doubted himself, thought that maybe his mind was playing tricks on him again, but she was staring at the screen with equal revulsion and confusion. 

“What the…” she began, then broke off, still staring. “Who is this nutso?”

“…each of you is Jerome.” The man was still talking, his voice rising in pitch until he sounded like he was almost shouting, and the camera wobbled as it zoomed in further on his face…not _his_ face, but the face covering his own, and Jeremiah stepped back, unable to look away.

_This can’t be real, who are these people? Why are they…_

_This isn’t real._

There were overlapping voices off-camera, and the man’s eyes darted to where the sound was coming from. Selina was frowning, bewildered, and Jeremiah couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. 

_What are they doing?_

_Is this some kind of sick joke…someone’s idea of trying to get attention…_

There was no denying what he had heard.

_That’s what he said._

_He said his name._

_That’s…_ he sucked in a short breath, his head spinning. _That’s his face._

There were police officers swarming in front of the camera now, but it kept recording. Through a haze, Jeremiah recognized Gordon, who was grabbing onto the man who had been speaking. The latter began yelling something unintelligible, and the only words he and Selina could hear were something about an awakening. The camera flickered, the footage jerky and everywhere at once, then without warning, it cut off, leaving the screen black.

Selina frowned deeply, standing up from the couch. “What sort of idiots…” she began, then noticed the look of pure terror on Jeremiah’s face, still staring at the darkened screen as if he couldn’t tear his gaze away, even after whatever had just happened had ended. “Miah, hey. Hey, look at me.” She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Don’t freak out, okay? They’re just a couple of crazies trying to get famous or something. All right? It’s okay.”

He didn’t pay any attention to her, and Selina stood up on the couch, putting a hand on his shoulder. Jeremiah jerked away, as if he hadn’t even noticed her until then, and finally met her gaze, his eyes blank with shock.

“He said…” His voice was a whisper, and she shook her head urgently.

“It doesn’t mean anything. It was just a fluke, the police didn’t get there in time to stop them right away. Whatever was going on, they’ve stopped it now, though, and there’s nothing to worry about.”

Jeremiah said nothing, and Selina climbed over the back of the couch to stand between him and the television, trying to redirect his attention. “Listen to me, it’s okay. I promise you. So what if they were talking about your brother…that doesn’t change anything, right? It’s just words.”

“But it…he was…” Jeremiah shivered, and Selina put her hands around his wrists, standing on tiptoe so she could look him straight in the eye. 

“Do _not_ freak out on me, okay? I don’t want to deal with that. Just listen to me. You don’t need to worry.”

“But his _face.”_ Jeremiah murmured, his throat dry. Selina shook her head again.

“Yeah I know, it was creepy and gross, but I told you, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“You don’t understand.” He finally looked at her, his expression tortured, as if he had just come face to face with his greatest nightmare. 

In a way, he had. “Selina, that was _his_ face.”

She paused. “What do you mean?”

“It…it was…” His breath caught in his lungs. “It was Jerome’s face.”

For a moment, she was at a loss for words. Jeremiah stepped back, and she watched him carefully. “It was his face, Selina.”

“Maybe it just looked like that, because you…”

“No.” he cut her off, trembling again. “I _know_ it was him.”

“Miah, remember what you said before? How sometimes you still think you see him? That could be what happened.” She tried to sound convincing, but wasn't very successful. “Don’t you think?”

Jeremiah found himself wishing that _was_ what happened…at least then he knew that Jerome was only in his mind, and even if he couldn’t quite control him, he wasn’t really there. Couldn’t really do anything to him. 

But this was different…he knew what he had saw.

His mind flashed back to three years ago, when he had first seen his brother from the footage of the attack on the police station. The way he hadn’t been able to truly believe it at first, he’d been so afraid. 

This was almost worse…because Jerome was dead now, but if these people were trying to be like him…it was as if they were bringing him back to life, in a way. Carrying on for him.

_Why can you never leave?_ he thought helplessly, and jumped when a voice behind him spoke in his ear.

“Well, you could say I’ve got a stubborn streak. When I’ve got somethin’ to do, I don't give up.”

He looked back, searching for his brother, and saw Jerome leaning agains the wall, arms crossed. Selina was still standing there, obviously seeing none of it, but looking at Jeremiah with concern.

“Besides,” Jerome continued, smiling, “I’ve always thought it would be fun to be a bit of a celebrity. And look at that! I’ve been on television twice now! My face, anyway.”

_Go away, please go away…_

“Jeremiah.” Selina’s voice cut through his panicked thoughts and he turned back to her, ignoring Jerome’s high-pitched laughter behind him. “Whatever just happened, it’s over.”

  
“Is it?” he heard Jerome ask, and resisted the urge to speak, knowing that was what Jerome wanted.

_But it’s not really Jerome. It’s you, your own head. You’re making him up._

“Is it over?” Jerome continued casually. “Because I know there’s been a setback or two…being dead can put a bit of a damper on one’s plans, y’know…but when has that ever stopped me? I’d say things are far from over, kiddo.”

_You’re just trying to scare me…you know that’s not true…_

“But _you’re_ the one thinking it.” Jerome pointed out. “Which must mean you know, somewhere in that mind of yours, that I was never really planning on being gone forever.”

Selina was saying something to him, but Jeremiah didn’t listen. He was focused on Jerome’s voice, which was coming closer with every word. He stood, rooted to the spot, feeling like the room was closing him around him, ready to crush him to death.

“As much as you deny the truth, Miah, you ain’t stupid. You knew what was gonna happen, even if you thought it was just you bein’ scared. Y’see, I’m not ready to leave you behind, bro, not yet. Not until I’ve shown you what you need to understand to become really, _truly_ free. That’s my _job,_ and I’m not gonna let it slide.”

He was standing alongside Selina now, but of course she didn’t see him because he wasn’t really there. “You thought you could get rid of me, but I’ll always come back. One way or another. You can never really kill me, because you can’t let me go. This whole city can’t let me go. Those folks who’re ready to embrace the truth, the _reality_ that I’ve taught them…they _love_ me. Gotham City is mine, because the people here aren’t scared to do what I’ve shown them…they only needed an opportunity. A bit of a boost, y’know?” He laughed. 

Jeremiah glared at him, and Selina pulled on his sleeve to redirect his attention. Her voice interrupted his thoughts. “Hey, whatever you're thinking, don’t. If you’re worrying about Jerome, it’s a waste of time. There's nothing we can do about what just happened…I don't know who those freaks were, but the police were taking care of it, you saw that. So it’s over. It’s really over, okay?”

“Okay…” he said slowly, forcing himself to not look at Jerome, who was sitting on the back of the couch now, listening to the conversation intently. Selina nodded reassuringly. 

“You can’t let him get to you. He’ll take over your whole life, Miah, and you’re better than that. Bruce thinks so too.” From behind her, Jerome smirked. “He wouldn’t want you to be worried about something like this.”

_Bruce wouldn’t want that._ Jeremiah could feel his heartbeat again, and he closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, Jerome was gone. It was just him and Selina now, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s gonna be fine.” she repeated, looking him directly in the eyes. “Really. There’s nothing to be scared of anymore, because Jerome really is gone. He’s gone, and he’s not coming back.”

 

\+ + + + + + +

 

Despite Selina’s encouragement, Jeremiah couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that followed him for the rest of the day. When she had left, explaining how Bruce had made her keep working on his investigation with him, Jeremiah had tried to brush aside the memory of what had happened and act like everything was normal. But he couldn’t concentrate on his work anymore, and after an hour of staring sightlessly at a blank sheet of paper, he put aside his notebook and decided he’d try again in the morning. 

Passing through the living room, he cast an anxious glance at the television. He hadn’t touched it since earlier in the day, scared of what he might see if he did. But his curiosity was getting the better of him…he wanted to know if the police had really caught everyone involved in…well, whatever had happened at the news station that day. Reluctantly, he switched it on, not realizing he was holding his breath until a normal news report came on the screen.

With no sign of Jerome.

_Selina was right. Things will go back to normal now. There wasn’t anything more._

Although he tried to be optimistic, he couldn’t forget the face the man had been wearing earlier. He had been so sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was Jerome’s. Even after Selina had convinced him that it was probably just his imagination, that it could be _any_ severed face he’d happened upon, Jeremiah still didn’t fully believe her. But it was easier to ignore that and carry on with life rather than fixate on a tiny detail that probably didn’t mean anything, so he had pushed it away as much as he could.

_There isn’t any other explanation._

He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice the news report had cut out into footage of a warehouse, the distant figure of a man in the center. It wasn’t until a voice broke through the speakers, a horribly familiar voice, distorted by the quality of the filming, that Jeremiah looked up, his eyes growing wide with disbelief.

_“Some of you may know, I died.”_

He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even breathe. There was no way this was real, it had to be some sort of final, cruel trick his mind was playing on him, some twisted joke that the last remaining memories of Jerome in his thoughts had conjured up.

_It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not, it can’t be…_

_“Take it from me, death is…dull.”_ the voice was saying, and suddenly _he_ was there, holding the camera, staring into it with a broad grin on his face…his face, clumsily stapled back on around his glittering brown eyes that seemed to be staring straight at Jeremiah, as if he was in the room with him, watching him right _now._

_You’re dreaming, this is a nightmare and you’re going to wake up, you have to wake up because this isn’t happening, it can’t happen…he’s dead, he’s been dead for three years, and you can’t just come back like that, it doesn’t work that way…_

_He has to be dead..._

_“Tonight, Gotham,”_ Jerome was saying, a spark catching in the lighter he had produced from nowhere, _“in the darkness, there are no rules.”_

_Make it stop, please, please make it stop, this can’t be real, it can’t be…_ A choked sob escaped his throat, and Jeremiah tried to look away, but he couldn’t. 

Jerome was _alive._

_“So tonight, Gotham, do what you want. Kill who you want.”_ Jerome laughed, the sound tinny and sharp as the camera shook and he turned his attention back to the lighter in his hand, picking up the end of a fuse that led to a pile of explosives stacked up behind him, a man tied up in the center of it all. Jeremiah wanted to break free from whatever was holding him in place, wanted to run away and hide until this nightmare was over, but he knew it wasn’t going to be over, because it _wasn’t_ a nightmare, it was real. 

_But it’s impossible._

_It has to be impossible._

_I saw him die...I'm the one who...who..._

_I'm the one who killed him._

_“And when daylight comes,”_ Jerome continued, lighting the fuse with a giggle and stepping back, still holding the camera, and Jeremiah discovered he was trembling, tears of sheer terror stinging his eyes as he wished uselessly for it all to end, for everything to be some sort of awful joke being played on him, because that was better, _anything_ was better than this.

_“You too shall be reborn.”_

The footage broke off into static, but Jerome’s laughter still rang through the silence of the room, bouncing off the walls and vibrating in the air, all around him. And this time it _was_ real, it wasn’t just some figment of his imagination, not something born out of his sense of guilt or his paranoia…this was real, and that had been Jerome he’d seen on the television, there was no question. 

_I told you I would never really leave you,_ he heard his brother’s voice whisper in his ear, but this time he didn’t move or look around for Jerome, because the real Jerome _was_ alive, and any sort of imaginary version of him didn’t matter anymore, because that was nothing compared to reality. 

Jeremiah covered his face with his hands, his breath hitching in his throat, and no matter how hard he tried to sort out his thoughts, he could only process one thing: fear. Everything that had ever happened between them came rushing back, as if the floodgates of his memories had suddenly opened, and he felt so horribly helpless, drowning in the darkness he couldn’t escape.

He shivered, his eyes shut tight, some part of him still hoping he would wake up from whatever horrible dream he’d fallen into. 

But it was only a small hope…he knew this was real, there was no denying it anymore. Jerome was back, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Without warning, the power in the entire building cut out, leaving him in silence, not a single light emanating from anywhere. Curling in on himself, Jeremiah stared around at the shadows surrounding him, still hearing his brother’s voice in his head, the words he’d spoken repeating themselves over and over again like some sort of demented mantra, the familiarity of his voice leaving no doubt that it _had_ been Jerome on that television, this wasn’t a nightmare, and sooner or later, his brother would find him again.

_Because he’ll always find you._

The darkness closed in around him, as if it had a mind of its own. Jeremiah didn’t know it, but the entirety of the city was equally shrouded in the same darkness, the explosion at the power plant causing a massive blackout. He remembered how, when he was younger, he used to be afraid of the dark, afraid of the monsters his mind created, afraid that if he thought about it for too long, they would become real.

This was the same, except now...now the monster _was_ real, and he was out there somewhere, prowling in the darkness. 

R eturned to terrorize the city that had once cowered in fear of him.

Jerome's words, punctuated with harsh laughter, echoed through his mind, and no matter how hard he tried, Jeremiah could no longer shut them out.

_In the darkness, there are no rules._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewatched the episode "Smile Like You Mean It" to make sure I remembered what Jerome says to the camera and djfljajlh it's so good I forgot how much I love that staple-face boi


	4. Simply Madness

**Chapter Four**

 

_He can’t find you here. He doesn’t know about this place…if you just stay here, just wait it all out, then maybe he won’t come looking for you._

Jeremiah paced restlessly back and forth, hands balled into fists and pressed against the sides of his head to stave off the headache that was pounding behind his eyes. It was later in the evening now, almost nine o’clock, but his nerves were still unbearably taut and he couldn’t think of anything besides the face that had been on the television screen…staring at him as he could see right through the camera…smiling at _him_ because Jerome new he was still here, in Gotham, because could he really be anywhere else? His brother must know Jeremiah would never leave this city…not as long as Bruce was still there…

He stopped pacing, his heart skipping a beat as renewed worry rushed through him.

_Bruce._

There were only four people Jerome had ever showed any interest in during his time terrorizing Gotham: his brother, Theo Galavan, Jim Gordon, and Bruce. But Galavan was dead now, and it was all but certain Gordon would inevitably show up to stop Jerome eventually…he had no reason to go out of his way to hunt down the police captain if he would show his face soon enough. Jeremiah was well-hidden, and even in the midst of his fear, he was certain his twin wouldn’t be able to find the underground bunker on his own.

But Bruce…

Jerome knew perfectly well where Wanye Manor was, and if Bruce was the only one left he would be able to track down…

_You’ve got to make sure he’s okay._

For a moment, he seriously considered it, but then his spirit crumpled and he shook his head at himself.

_No, you can’t leave. You can’t leave this place, you know Jerome will find you, because he always finds you, that’s what he’s always done._

The very next moment, he couldn’t believe his own cowardice…that he would abandon his friend because of his own fears…it was almost enough to galvanize him into actually deciding he _would_ go find Bruce and check that he was safe.

Almost, but not enough.

He still heard Jerome’s laughter ringing in his head, no matter what he did, and there was nothing he could do to push away the deep-set terror and confusion that filled his every thought. He partly wanted to believe that this was just his imagination playing tricks on him again…that was easier to believe than to admit this was really happening. If it _was_ just him thinking these things, then at least it wasn’t real.

It might mean he was losing his mind, but if it meant Jerome wasn’t really there, then it was almost worth it.

But it _was_ real, and no matter what excuses he came up with, he couldn’t deny the truth.

_He’s alive._

Jeremiah slumped down on the couch, trying to organize his thoughts. Make sense of what was going on. But he couldn’t, because it _didn’t_ make sense, there was no logical explanation for all of this. And that was what made it hardest to believe…he'd always balked at anything that didn’t have a logical reason behind it, and this…

Well, it was simply madness.

There was no reason at all, logical or not. 

He didn’t understand any of it, anything that was happening. Why anybody would even try some sort of…reanimation was beyond him, and on one of Gotham’s most infamous lunatics?

_Is everyone out of their minds?_

It made no sense to bring him back…it was unquestionable that Jerome would only use this chance to spread more destruction and chaos wherever he went, with even more vigor this time, after having been…

_Dead._

_He was dead. You were free of him, really, truly free. But now…_

_Now he’s back and he’s going to find Bruce, he’s going to tell him…_

Jeremiah sat up suddenly, his eyes widening in horror as realization rushed over him in a scalding wave.

_He’s going to tell him the truth._

_About what I did._

_That I killed him._

His fear for his brother was instantly swallowed up in a deeper terror, one that had been flickering in the back of his mind like a tiny shadow for the past three years and now took over every thought in a sudden surge of strength. 

_Bruce will leave you if he knows._

_You’ll be alone again. Without him._

It was the worst thought to ever cross his mind, and enough to force him to his feet, pushing away the thought of Jerome, if even for the briefest of moments. 

_You can't let him know. Not if you don’t want to lose your best friend. You can’t…_

_You can’t ever let that happen._

 

\+ + + + + +

 

“Let me tell you a story.” Jerome, his newly stapled face looking all the more grotesque in the light of the flickering candles Alfred had lit in the study after the power had gone out, looked intently at Bruce as the latter glared at him with a mixture of shock and fury. “Oh boy, is it a good one. And then maybe you’ll tell me where my dear little brother is.”

“He’s not here.” Bruce repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, and Jerome rolled his eyes, kicking a pillow off the couch from where he was standing. 

“It’s cute and all, you protecting him like that, but would you _really_ rather have me kill you and go find him when you could just say where he is and get it over with?”

“You won’t kill me.” Bruce replied with more bravery than he felt. “Not until you _do_ find him. Because you need me to tell you where he is. And I won’t do that.”

“Oh, Brucie, don’t tell me what I can do. You may be a fancy rich kid, but you’re human, just like the rest of us. A human with blood runnin’ through his veins, and a heart that stops just as easily as anyone else. So don’t go around pretending you have any sort of _power_ over me. I don’t play by your rules.”

“What about the story you mentioned?” Bruce tried to divert the redhead’s attention, hoping desperately that maybe the police would find out where Jerome had gone and put a stop to this. There were three other goons, clown-like paint splattered haphazardly across their faces, holding both him and Alfred at gunpoint, and there was no chance they could fight their way out of this alone. 

The only thing to do was stall for time.

“Oh yeah, the story.” Jerome bounced up and down on the couch, the switchblade he was holding gleaming in the light. “First of all, I gotta know something. How long has it been since I died? A month? Two months?”

“Three years.” Bruce said tonelessly, and Jerome stared at him.

“ _Years!_ Ha, whaddya think of that, Brucie boy, you’re older than _me_ now!” He reached down from where he was standing on the couch to pat Bruce on the head, and the latter jerked away. “I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“Uh huh.” Bruce gritted. He’d only ever met the other boy at the charity ball, when he’d threatened his life, and here Jerome was, behaving as if they were old friends. _How is he even related to Jeremiah? They’re nothing alike._

The thought of his friend sent a surge of concern through him. If Jeremiah had seen the footage from the warehouse, Bruce knew he had to be terrified. He only hoped he would stay in the bunker until this was all over, safely away from his twin.

“Anyway, back to what I was saying,” Jerome chirped, happily pulling apart the seams of the pillow he was holding as he spoke. “This story takes place three years ago, then. On a very important day. Can ya guess what it was?”

“I don’t really care.” Bruce couldn’t help saying, and there was a flash of anger in the other’s eyes. He jumped off the couch, leveling the knife at Bruce’s face.

“Well, you _should_ care. It involves a little friend of yours.”

Bruce frowned. “Who?”

“Take a guess.” Jerome singsonged, bounding up onto the table this time. He kicked aside the chessboard Bruce still kept there, and the latter winced at the sound of the pieces scattering across the floorboards. “You don’t seem like the type to have a million friends anyway, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“You’re no _fun,_ kid!” Jerome complained, scuffing his foot against the table petulantly. “Just _guess.”_

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be guessing.” Bruce tried to appease him, not wanting Jerome to lose patience and order his followers to kill him and Alfred without another word. 

“Ugh, teenagers. They never listen. I want you to guess,” Jerome repeated, jumping back down and coming to stand eye to eye with Bruce, who didn’t back away, “who this story, which happened three years ago, might possibly be about. You have one guess,” he pulled a gun out of his belt, “or I shoot your butler in the head.”

Bruce froze, his gaze darting to Alfred, who was glaring furiously at Jerome. “Okay, just…fine. I’ll guess. I’m…assuming you’re talking about Jeremiah."

“Aaaaand the old man gets to live.” Jerome laughed, tucking the gun away again. “Good job, Brucie, you saved his life.”

“If you’re trying to get me to tell you where your brother is…”

“Oh, no no no. You already said you wouldn’t, and anyway, I’ll find him soon enough. I always do, and he knows it. This is just a story I want you to hear. Since he probably hasn’t ever told you.”

“Well, no one ever said he had to tell me everything.” Bruce retorted.

“But this is important, kid. _Really_ important. Life-or-death important.” He leaned forward. “Emphasis on the death part.”

Bruce looked at him suspiciously, his eyes narrowed. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m just wondering,” Jerome lowered his voice and Bruce tried not to think about how, when the redhead wasn’t laughing every other word, he sounded just like Jeremiah, “exactly what he told you about me, y’know, dying.”

“For a storyteller, you’re making me do a lot of the talking.” Bruce noted sarcastically. Jerome shrugged.

“I like to get the audience involved. You know that better than anyone, Brucie.”

“You want me to tell you…what, again?”

“Who killed me.” Jerome grinned, his eyes wide. “Who’d the little twerp pin it on?”

“Galavan’s sister.” Bruce said slowly, trying to fathom what Jerome was getting at. 

“Oh ho, Tabby, huh?” the other boy smirked. “Why’d she do _that?”_

“He didn’t say. I don’t think he knew. You’re the one who should know the answer to that, anyway.”

“He knows the answer, all right.” Jerome was still speaking softly, but there was a dangerous glint in his eye. “He’s the _only_ one who knows the answer.”

Bruce paused. “What?”

“Do you really think _she_ killed me?” Jerome asked, raising one eyebrow as best he could with a recently reattached face. Bruce grimaced. 

“I wasn't there, obviously. But Jeremiah wouldn’t have a reason to lie.”

“Oh, _wouldn’t_ he! Bruce, here’s where the story gets _very_ interesting, and I’d listen carefully if I were you.” He stepped back, turning the knife in his hand over and watching the light reflect on the blade. “Tabitha wasn’t at the place that day, and Theo was busy doing his usual fraud stuff. They weren’t there when _it_ happened.”

Bruce opened his mouth to speak, then shut it, staring at Jerome as he began to realize what the redhead was saying. “You…”

“Yeah, my own dear, sweet brother, whom I have always loved so _very_ dearly,” Jerome giggled, “killed me himself. Pretty gutsy, huh? Who knew the kid could do somethin’ that brave?”

Bruce was at a loss for words for a moment, his mind flashing back throughout the past three years, seeing everything with new eyes all over again.

The way Jeremiah had always refused to even mention Jerome…how, despite all that, he sometimes seemed to see his brother when he wasn’t really there (Bruce had noticed it on occasion, but hadn’t ever said anything, not wanting to bring up more bad memories)…the way he would sometimes look at Bruce with a tense, uncertain expression in his eyes, as if he’d wanted to say something but couldn’t gather up the courage to…

He’d never considered any of those things had ever related to what Jerome had just said. “So you want revenge on him?” Bruce asked quietly, trying to not let any of the shock show on his face. Jerome scoffed, shaking his head.

“Revenge is for amateurs. Call this…a family reunion. I’m all he has left, y’know.”

“He has me.” Bruce said, almost defensively. Jerome rolled his eyes.

“ _Real_ family, Brucie. You two can pretend all you want, you’ll never be real family. He belongs to _me,_ and you ain’t gonna stop me from finding him.”

“Well, he’s not here at the manor, and I doubt he’ll come running to you when you call, so good luck with that.”

“Jeez, buddy, why so possessive? I mean, what’s he ever done for _you?”_

“You don’t need to do things for each other to be friends.”

Jerome faked a yawn. “Oh, whatever. I’m bored, and you’re not gonna tell me where he is, so I might as well kill you and get outta this place.” He pulled out the gun again, and Bruce stepped back quickly, eyeing the weapon. “Any last words?"

“I don’t see why you need to kill me. I haven’t done anything to you.”

“Bruce, I don’t kill people because they _do_ things to me. I do it because it’s fun. And since I didn’t get to kill you last time…” He trailed off, then his eyes lit up with inspiration and he snapped his fingers. “Why didn’t I think of that?” Bruce was silent, not wanting to provoke the other into shooting him, and Jerome grinned. “Kill two birds with one stone. Which, incidentally, I know _all_ about. I’ve killed plenty of birds in my career.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I've killed a lot of birds. Back when I was a kid. There was this robin once—" Jerome glanced at Bruce. “Oh, you mean what am I planning?”

“You’re planning something?”

“Yeah, you’ll see soon enough.” He grabbed the other boy by the arm and dragged him toward the study door. “I’ve had plenty of plans before, but this one takes the cake. I’m very impressed with myself.”

“Where are we going?” Bruce asked uneasily, not resisting against the other’s pull, as he still had a gun aimed at his head. Jerome grinned at him over his shoulder, his brown eyes sparkling like a little kid who had just been given the greatest present in his life.

“We,” he said, and he almost broke into laughter before composing himself and continuing, “are going on a little trip to the circus.”

 

\+ + + + + + + +

 

_What if you’re too late, what if he’s already killed him…what if you go in there and it’s Jerome, and Bruce is dead, and he’ll kill you too, just like he’s always wanted…_

Jeremiah stood outside the study door, on the brink of absolute panic, trying to listen for any sound coming from inside. It was silent, but that didn’t mean anything. Jerome could be waiting in there right now, right on the other side of the door, just waiting for him to step inside…

_You have to make sure Bruce is all right._

_It’s what he would have done for you._

Steeling himself for whatever he would see, he pushed open the door. His eyes were drawn to the bodies sprawled on the floor, and for a moment he could only wonder which one was Bruce, could only stare in silent horror knowing he really was too late, _you could have saved him, but look what you did…_

Then his vision cleared and he began to realize that he didn’t know any of their faces…Bruce wasn’t even in the study. Gripping onto the door handle, Jeremiah stared around, his eye catching a movement in the corner. He backed away, startled, before recognizing the familiar figure of Alfred stepping out of the shadows. 

Overcome with relief that Jerome hadn’t been inside, preparing to kill him, he ran to the butler, wrapping his arms wordlessly around him. Although Alfred was not one known for doling out affection, he didn't push him away.

“What on earth are you doing here, Jeremiah?” he asked, tossing aside a crowbar that looked, if the smiling faces spray pained onto the metal were any indication, like it had belonged to one of the unconscious men on the floor. Jeremiah stepped back, trying to not look at the destruction all around him…he knew Jerome had been here, that wasn’t even something to call into question.

_But where is he now?_

“Where…where’s Bruce?” he asked hesitantly, and fear shot through him as Alfred’s face darkened.

“That deranged lunatic took him off somewhere and left me to fight off this lot.” He kicked one of the men in the arm disgustedly, then glanced up. “Sorry, forget he was your brother.”

“Call him what you want, I don’t care.” Jeremiah murmured, the impact of Alfred’s words setting in. “You mean he has Bruce?”

The butler nodded. “I just called Gordon and his men to find him, but apparently it’s pandemonium out there. Whatever your brother did to those people, they’re all going crazy.” He shook his head unbelievingly. “Who knew a few words on the telly and a blackout could cause an army of looneys running around the city? At this rate they’ll take over anything.”

“But…but they’ll find him?” Jeremiah pressed, not wanting to believe what Alfred had said…if Jerome had his friend, who knew what would happen? It was impossible to tell with his twin; three years apart hadn’t diminished his belief in _that_ fact.

“They’d better, I’ll go after him myself if Gordon doesn’t ring up in a minute.” the butler shot a glance at the phone as if everything was its fault. 

“I’m going to look for him.” Jeremiah said before he could stop himself. Alfred frowned.

“Mate, it’s bloody chaos out there right now. You don’t even know where they’ve gone.”

“But I do.” It was true...before he could realize it himself, he knew where Jerome was going. He'd known right away. As Alfred has been speaking, he’d been trying to think of where his brother could have taken Bruce…it had to be somewhere that fit Jerome himself, somewhere he felt at home. His mind had skimmed through everywhere in the city that he could possibly have thought of, until he realized there was only one place that Jerome would want to go.

Because he knew Jeremiah would follow him.

He had been planning on it the whole time.

_He’s going to end this where it all began._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter's kind of short, the next one should be longer!


	5. Mirror Image

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't get this posted yesterday, it took me a while to figure out how the plot of this chapter should unfold
> 
> Hope ya like it!

**Chapter Five**

 

Jeremiah didn’t remember a time when he had actually liked living at the circus. Truth be told, his distaste for his surroundings had most likely stemmed from the fact that Jerome _had_ enjoyed it, had always been enthralled by the chaotic, constantly moving lifestyle and showmanship they had both been immersed in since they were born. And if there was any opportunity to differ in opinion to Jerome, he would leap at the chance to take it, if only to continue his persistent denial that they would never be the same.

Regardless if his twin was the reason for his views or not, there was no denying that the twisted mockery of their childhood home that had been constructed in the abandoned amusement park site on the outskirts of Gotham was nightmare fuel. Wherever he looked, there was violence and shouting and wanton destruction…to Jerome, it was probably paradise.

To Jeremiah, it was nothing short of absolute hell.

_And that’s what he wants._

Alfred had tried to persuade him not to go, had made Jeremiah promise to stay at the manor as he went to look for Gordon in the growing mayhem of the city, but of course he hadn’t listened. The moment the butler was out of sight, he had headed straight for the place he knew Jerome would be, trying not to think about what would happen when he got there. He knew Jerome was _trying_ to get him to follow him…enticing him with the threat of killing Jeremiah’s best friend…but he couldn’t simply wait around until someone else stepped up to help.

_Bruce would do the same thing for you,_ he kept telling himself, although it didn’t make him feel any better. Sure, Bruce would had done it, but he was _Bruce,_ he wasn’t ever scared, he always knew what he was doing…Jeremiah couldn’t even begin to piece together some sort of plan for what he would do once he found his brother. All he knew was that he needed to get to Bruce, needed to stop Jerome from doing anything else…the rest he could figure out as he went. 

_Why couldn’t he just stay dead?_

He still couldn’t quite believe what had happened. Seeing Jerome on the television had felt like some sort of bad dream, and his mind hadn’t fully processed the reality of the situation…it was indisputably that Jerome _was_ alive, there was no question there, but part of him still refused to believe it. 

Amusement Mile, the decrepit spot where Jerome’s followers had decided to congregate, was a strange conglomeration of flashing lights and colorful figures darting back and forth amid the rotting amusement park rides and abandoned booths that were splintering and rusting after years of being exposed to the elements and left to decompose. Trying to stay out of sight, Jeremiah ignored the seemingly endless savagery and wreckage around him, his head spinning from being immersed in the chaos, trying to focus on why he was here.

_Don’t be too late, you can’t be, if you’re too late then this is all pointless because you need Bruce, you need him whatever you do, could you even live without him?_

_He’s saved you before, you have to try and save him._

_Even if you have to face Jerome._

It almost made him feel brave, thinking that, as if he really did stand a chance against his brother. 

Above the sounds of the chaos around him, he heard a loud, high laugh, and he froze, staring around to try and catch a glimpse of the source. He knew it anywhere…three years made no difference, it was still Jerome, and he was _here,_ he was really here…

For a moment, he almost panicked, certain he would never be able to face his brother, especially after what had happened last time. If Jerome was going to hold a grudge for what Jeremiah did, then he undoubtedly wanted to kill him. He could practically hear his twin’s voice in his head, whispering, _It’s only fair, bro,_ and Jeremiah faltered, his momentary illusion of courage falling away.

Then he caught sight of two running figures disappearing into the mirror maze to his left and every other thought disappeared.

_Bruce._

He saw Jerome chasing after his friend, his back turned toward him, and Jeremiah followed them before he could even think about turning back…he didn’t _let_ himself think that, otherwise he knew he would. Stepping inside the narrow tunnel and listening intently for the echoing footsteps accompanied by the familiar laughter he knew so well, he didn’t even pause to think anything; not any sort of plan he would need to stop Jerome, or what he would do if he was suddenly confronted by his brother. Mainly because he didn’t have time, but there was a part of him that admitted he wouldn’t be able to create any sort of comprehensive plan anyway. Never in a million years would he have even considered anything like this happening, and his mind was completely void of ideas. 

The only thing he could do was follow them and hope he wouldn’t be too late.

The hall abruptly opened into a wider room, the walls still covered completely in mirrors, and Jeremiah rounded the corner, running straight into his brother, who had turned back when he heard someone behind him. Staring in silence for a moment, Jerome’s face broke into a delighted grin, and he stepped back, giving his twin a mocking bow. 

“Well, well, well, isn’t this the most perfect timing!”

Wide-eyed, Jeremiah stumbled up against the wall, his gaze darting back and forth between Jerome and Bruce, noting with horror the garish jester-style paint that clung to the latter’s face.

“I couldn’t ask for anything better,” Jerome continued, as if they were having a friendly conversation over dinner, not trapped in an abandoned carnival attraction. “I was just sayin’ to Brucie here, when we were at his fancy billionaire house, that I’ve been waiting for a family reunion like this. And here you are!”

Jeremiah didn’t speak, only watched his twin in mute terror, waiting for him to get to the point. Because there _had_ to be a point to all this…it couldn’t simply be chaos for the sake of it, destruction and insanity without any sort of reason aside from making a statement.

Then again, Jerome never had to have a reason to do anything before.

“So, fill me in.” His brother sidled up alongside him, leaning casually against the wall and tossing the switchblade he was holding into the air. “It’s been three years, or so I hear, and I’m sure I’ve missed out on a lot. Guess there _are_ some downsides to a life of being dead.” There was a cold glint in his eye, and Jeremiah resisted the urge to back away.

_Don’t let him see you’re scared. It’s what he wants._

“Aw, come on.” Jerome rolled his eyes when his brother remained silent. “The least ya could do is talk to me. I mean, you gotta owe me _something,_ right? You don’t think I’d let you kill me and get off easy, right?”

Jeremiah looked quickly over at Bruce, alarmed, and Jerome laughed again, patting him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, he knows _all_ about it. I told him what happened, and now your little friend knows exactly what you are, bro.” He pointed the knife at Jeremiah, who flinched. “A killer.”

The other redhead stared pleadingly at Bruce, who was listening uneasily to the conversation. “I didn’t—"

“Really? You’re _still_ gonna lie?” Jerome shook his head in mock disgust. “Just know when to give up, Miah. I’ve got you cornered.”

“Why did you want me to come here?” he asked quietly, his voice wavering. _You know why, you know exactly why he did it…he’s going to kill you, kill you both, and he’ll get what he wants, because that’s what he’s always wanted, for as long as he’s…_

“I thought you’d like to see this side of things.” Jerome smiled. “What this city does when it’s woken up. Who it really is, hiding underneath the mask of _control._ Doesn’t take much to unleash it all, does it? And now all these people are finally free. Because they listened to what I told them. And they _believed_ me.”

Jeremiah frowned. “If this is some sort of elaborate metaphor of you trying to prove we’re the same again…”

“Huh, you don’t sound so mad about it as you did last time. Maybe you’re seeing things my way now, ya think?” Jerome paused, considering. “Then again, last time was the time you gutted me with a knife, so the bar might be set just a little bit low.”

He sucked in a breath. “Jerome, please don’t…”

“Oh, that still bothers you, does it? Don’t tell me you feel guilty.” he sneered in disgust, examining his twin’s face. A moment later his eyes lit up, delighted. “Oh, but you _don’t.”_

Jeremiah stared back. “Don’t what?” He felt like he was still in a nightmare, like he was moments away from waking up, and all he had to do was endure until it was all over.

“You’re not sorry.” Jerome breathed, as if he could barely believe it. “You’d do it all over again if you could.”

“I…I don’t know what you’re…”

“I _knew_ you could do it.” Jerome interrupted proudly, and Jeremiah shrank away from him. “I knew all it would take was just a little push for you to see your _true_ self. The one you were always meant to be.”

“You’re saying I should—"

“But now,” his brother cut him off, turning the knife in his hands over, “it’s my turn.”

There was a threatening note in Jerome’s voice that sent a shiver of unease through Jeremiah, and he stared at the knife suspiciously. Bruce tried to break in, “Jerome, leave him alone…” but the redhead waved him off dismissively.

“Shh, don’t talk during the show. It’s _my_ turn. But don’t worry, like I said, I always get the audience involved.” Fixing his gaze on Jeremiah, he twirled the knife. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, kiddo.” With a flourish, he produced the gun from his belt, waving it in the air. “We’re gonna have a little fun.”

The tension was so heavy between them that Jeremiah could barely breathe, and he wanted to run out of the mirror maze, away from everything he thought he had left behind three years ago. But he was frozen in place, and there was nowhere to go because Jerome would just come after him, like he always did.

_He’s going to kill me, I know he is, that’s why he’s done all this is so he can kill me. Nothing else makes sense._

“This is just a stab in the dark,” Jerome began, then dissolved into laughter at his own choice of words, doubling over with mirth as Jeremiah watched him uncertainly. “Stab in the dark, get it? Just like when you…oh, I shoulda been a comedian. But anyway, back to my point. I’m guessing you want to, y’know, live?” He gestured at Jeremiah with the knife he was holding, and his twin nodded, his eyes wide and frightened. Jerome clapped his hands, knife and all. “Whaddya know, I’m a mind reader. Better add that to my list of things I’m good at.”

“Jerome—" Bruce tried again, and this time he turned to the young billionaire, motioning for him to come closer. 

“Yeah, you’re a part of this too.” Bruce stepped toward him slowly, warily, and Jeremiah looked at him desperately, trying to tell him it wasn’t safe, he shouldn’t listen to Jerome. “Brucie boy told me something very interesting on the way over here, and I think you might like to know what it is. Since it could be… _important.”_

Jeremiah shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, if you would _listen_ instead of interrupting, maybe I could get around to telling you.” his twin retorted, sudden anger flaring up in his expression. It was gone a moment later, replaced by his usual smile, but there was still something threatening lingering behind his eyes. “Anyway, just by way of polite conversation, as you do, I happened to ask Bruce if he would kill me if he got the chance. Just to see where I stood on the list of people he hates.” He grinned at Bruce. “Which, I’m guessing, I rank pretty high.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Will you just let me _talk!”_ Jerome snapped, and suddenly the knife was at Jeremiah’s throat as he stood pressed against the wall. Every pretense of being brave was completely gone by now, and the reality of the situation had set in with an unexpected intensity.

_This is actually happening, it’s real, oh God, it’s real, and everything’s going to end here…after all this time, Jerome’s really going to win this time, and there’s nothing anyone else can do about it…_

“As I was saying,” Jerome said smoothly, not making any indication of moving the knife away, “Bruce and I got to chatting about that, since we were already on the topic of murder, what with me telling him about what _you_ did and all.”

“I _had_ to.” Jeremiah protested despite himself, and Jerome’s grip on the knife tightened.

“You didn’t have to do anything. Now shut up for real this time.”

“Jerome, you don’t have to do this.” Bruce tried to speak calmly, despite his growing helplessness at the situation that was quickly spiraling out of anyone’s control. The redhead scoffed.

“Wow, now _that’s_ a throwaway line if I’ve ever heard one. Sure, I don’t have to do this…I don’t have to do _anything,_ really. I’m doing this cause I want to, plain and simple. So there’s no point tryin’ to go all ‘ _you could be better than this’_ on me, Brucie boy. Save it for someone who cares.” He turned back to Jeremiah. “Now, here’s where this gets good.”

“I’ll give you what you want,” Bruce continued, hands raised in surrender. “I’ll let…I’l let you do whatever you want with me, just let him go.”

“Bruce, don’t—"

“I don’t _want_ to do anything with you.” Jerome explained calmly. “You really think I organized this shindig so I could kill _you?_ I mean, sorry if it hurts your feelings, but I don’t really care about you. At all. And I don’t want to kill you.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Firstly, how about you tell Miah what you said on the way over here? When I asked if you would kill me?”

Bruce hesitated, clearly wondering what the catch was to Jerome’s question. When the redhead tapped his foot impatiently, he answered quietly, “I…I said I wouldn’t kill anyone. I don’t…I made a decision I would never do that.” Jeremiah remembered when Bruce had told him about his parents’ murderer, Matches Malone, and how he had almost killed him. Jeremiah had asked him incredulously why he hadn’t…he had spent years searching for the man, and he let him live once he came face to face with him. Bruce had slowly told him he’d realized that killing the man wouldn’t have made anything better…that it wasn’t true justice. 

“Bruce, that is _fascinating.”_ Jerome’s eyes glittered, and without warning, he tossed the gun in his other hand at the billionaire, who fumbled to catch it, holding it out in front of him like it was a dead animal. “But that does put you in a bit of a pickle.” He nodded at Jeremiah, who was staring at Bruce, stock still. “Y’see, I’m gonna kill him. Not because he deserves it, which he _does,_ but because I didn’t get around to it last time, and I hate leaving my to-do lists unfinished. But,” he added, and there was a malicious gleam in his eye that made Bruce’s frown deepen, “if you got what it takes, and you _really_ care about him, maybe that doesn’t have to happen.”

Realization swept over Jeremiah sickeningly, and he tried to inch away from the knife Jerome was still holding to his throat, but his brother dragged him back. “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere, broski.” His eyes still trained on Bruce, he tilted his head. “So? Whatcha gonna do? I gave you what you need,” with his free hand, he pointed to the gun he’d given the other boy, “and now it’s up to you how you use it.”

“Jerome, we can talk this through.” Bruce tried, and Jerome giggled.

“Oh _please,_ enough with the negotiating already. That’s boring, and you know what happens when I get bored. Just ask Miah here.” When Jeremiah didn’t speak, Jerome leaned toward Bruce, whispering like he was telling a secret, “When I get bored, I tend to start killing things.”

“You want me to kill you to save him?” Disbelief was written all over Bruce’s face.

“That, or stick to your little special no-murder code or whatever, and watch me settle this myself.”

“I can’t let you kill him.”

“Okay.” Jerome nodded encouragingly. “So go ahead. Finish me off again. Who knew I’d get to be killed by two different people! _That’s_ quite a joke.”

Jeremiah could feel his heart pounding painfully against his ribcage. _He’s got us both trapped. Just like before. He still wins either way…if Bruce kills him, then he’s brought us both down to his level, murderers like him._ Although he couldn’t put it into words, he understood the deeper levels of his brother’s plan. Jerome knew how much he idolized Bruce, how much he relied on him to be the one who would always do the right thing, no matter what. He was the only person who kept Jeremiah from letting the voices in his head…the voices that were Jerome…take over, and if Bruce was turned into a killer, then there would be nothing to stop that anymore.

“I…” Bruce’s expression was torn, the gun in his hand still held out in front of him as if it would come to life. “I’m not…”

“Don’t make me wait all day, Brucie. I know you’re stalling for time, waiting for Gordon and his pals to get here, but I don’t feel like going back to Arkham today…I don’t look great in stripes…so I’m gonna be outta here way before then. Better hurry up and make your decision.”

“Jerome, I can’t…”

“Oh, you _can,_ you just don’t want to. So I guess what you’re saying is you don’t really care about him all that much?” He nodded at Jeremiah. “I mean, that’s a smart choice, _I_ wouldn’t waste my time on him either.”

“You know it’s not that. You know it isn’t.” There was a spark of indignation in Bruce’s eyes, burning behind the worry. “I _do_ care about him, and I won’t let you kill him.”

“So you’re gonna do it?” Jerome countered, almost eagerly. Bruce faltered.

“I made a promise…”

“Yeah, I get that, the whole parents-killed-in-front-of-ya thing might put you off murder as a side hobby, but really, Bruce, c’mon. I mean, _my_ parents died in front of me.” He paused, considering. “Though I did kill them, so, y’know, not exactly the same. But still.”

“Jerome, if I kill you, then I’m no better than you.”

“Ah, sure you are. You’re doin’ it for a _noble_ cause. That’s gotta make it feel a little better, right?”

“This is just you wanting to be in control. Trying to get me to play your game. I don’t have to follow your rules.” He was speaking to Jerome, but looking at Jeremiah. “It doesn’t have to happen like this.”

Jeremiah stared back at him, and for a moment, they both knew what the other was thinking. 

_Bruce knows what to do, you just have to get out of the way. He’ll be able to fix everything…_

“You got ten seconds,” Jerome was saying, “and then I give dear ol’ Miah a new breathing hole. Hope I’m invited to the funeral, and that he stays dead. It’d get kinda boring if we had to keep killin’ each other off after a wh—"

Without warning, Jeremiah suddenly jerked back, pushing Jerome’s arm away from him, and the knife barely grazed his neck before he scrambled away from his twin, who turned to look at him with mild annoyance. Before Jerome could move, though, Bruce flung the knife to the side and tackled him, sending well-calculated punches flying at the redhead’s barely-attached face. 

Jerome cackled, high and delirious, disregarding the torrent of blows raining down on him. “That’s…it…Brucie…” Choking on his own laughter, he didn’t even attempt to fight back. “Knew…you could…”

“Shut up.” Bruce snapped, but Jerome ignored him.

“You two…oh, you’re the cutest…” He craned his neck to grin at Jeremiah before Bruce hit him in the face again. “If you only…” His voice trailed off, and Bruce pushed him away, scrambling to his feet and grabbing Jeremiah’s sleeve as he tossed the gun across the floor.

“Come on, let’s go.”

As Bruce dragged him out of the room, back through the tunnel of mirrors toward the entrance. Jeremiah threw a glance over his shoulder and saw Jerome staggering after them, still laughing as if he had just been told the funniest joke in the world, one hand pressed against his face, which was looking much worse for the wear at the moment. Jeremiah shuddered.

_This may be real, but it’s still a nightmare._

Once they reached the entrance, they both spotted Alfred and Captain Gordon only a few feet away, and Bruce immediately pushed his way through the crowds of lunatics around him toward the butler. Jeremiah paused, catching his breath, then started after him.

He only made it two steps before someone grabbed him by the wrist, jerking him back around. Jeremiah flinched away, staring at Jerome with ever-growing horror _(his face, how is that not even bothering him…someone was wearing his own face just earlier today and he can just…)_ and his brother shook his head.

“Well, that wasn’t very gracious of you. Right when the party’s starting, you just bail out on me. Better learn some manners, huh?”

Jeremiah backed away, but Jerome reached out and pulled him closer. “Oh, no. You’re not goin’ anywhere just yet. I haven’t come all the way back from the dead to let you run off.”

Jeremiah tossed a desperate look over his shoulder, seeing Bruce hurriedly explaining everything to Alfred and Gordon. None of them even noticed Jerome standing there, and he knew if he said anything, his brother could very well kill him where he stood. Defeated, he turned back.

“So what are you going to do to me now?” he murmured, and Jerome slung an arm over his shoulder in a friendly way, directing his attention to the distorted mirror in front of them, rust and grime crawling at the sides of the glass. 

“Guess we ain’t so identical now, huh?” he mused, picking at the staples that were doing a very bad job at holding his face on. Jeremiah tried to ignore it. “Tragic, it looks like my dream career of modeling has gone down the drain thanks to that guy, Dwayne, or Dave, or whatever.”

Jeremiah met his gaze in their reflection. “Jerome, I’m…”

“Dwight!” the other redhead snapped his fingers triumphantly. “That was his name. Oh, and guess what. He mighta taken my face,” he rolled his eyes in irritation, “which was a bit of a bummer, cause then he started goin’ around pretending to be me, but I did find something very interesting.”

Jeremiah tensed, but Jerome gripped onto his shoulder tighter, pulling him even closer. “No no, you’re not leaving yet. I have a little gift for you. Courtesy of Dwight. I dunno what this stuff is, or what he was plannin’ on doing with it, but considering he, well, basically worshipped me, I’m guessing this might be the perfect thing for you.” He began fiddling with something hidden in his sleeve, and Jeremiah stared at him suspiciously.

“What are you—"

He broke off as Jerome pulled a small bottle from his sleeve and pressed down on the top, a cloud of some sort of gas billowing out without warning straight into his face. Jeremiah stumbled back, coughing, and shut his eyes tightly, renewed fear surging through him.

_What was that, what’s he trying to do, is he going to really kill me now…_

As if from a distance, he hear Jerome laughing again, and slowly opened his eyes, staring around cautiously. 

He didn’t feel any different, and everything around him still seemed to be the same. His eyes burned slightly, but he could still see clearly, and although his senses seemed a little unsteady, it felt more like an adrenaline rush than anything else. Drawing a deep breath and staring in confusion at his brother, he tried to speak. “What…” His voice cracked and he tried again. “What was that?”

Jerome shrugged. “I dunno. Call it a gamble. I found it in the Dwight guy’s jacket, and since it had a picture of _me_ on it,” he held out the container to show Jeremiah a homemade sticker of a crude sketch of a grinning face, “I thought maybe it just might help you.”

“Help me _what?”_

“Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” Jerome smiled, just as someone grabbed him back the back of his collar and dragged him backwards. Twisting around, Jerome came face to face with a very unamused Jim Gordon, and Jeremiah stepped back, his senses still reeling slightly from whatever had just happened. The shot of acute fear that had rushed through him had left him shaking, and he leaned against the glass on the outside of the hall of mirrors, relieved that the police captain had finally stepped in.

“Are you okay?” a voice from behind him asked, and Jeremiah spun around, startled. His features relaxed when he saw Bruce, and he nodded silently, noticing the way the world suddenly seemed to rock beneath his feet. 

_What was that stuff?_

He took off his glasses to rub his eyes, which weren’t burning anymore, thankfully. _Maybe it wasn’t anything. I mean, sure, those guys who follow him are nuts, but it’s not like being obsessed with Jerome means they can suddenly create dangerous chemical compounds or whatever that was supposed to be…it could have just been, well, anything. And Jerome was just trying to scare me as a last resort. Because he knew he was going to lose this fight._

He suddenly remembered Bruce had asked him a question, and he mustered what he hoped looked like a genuine smile. “Yeah.” he said softly, turning to face his friend. “I’m sorry about that.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Bruce shook his head. “You can’t control what your brother does.”

“Yes, but…” He broke off, suddenly remembering. _He knows. He knows what I did…Jerome told him._

_He knows I lied to him…_

His face drained of color and he suddenly couldn’t speak. Bruce didn’t seem to notice, saying something to Alfred, but Jeremiah knew it was too late to go back now. 

He was a killer, and his friend knew it, there was no way to hide anymore. 

_Will he even want to understand? If he’s so against killing, thinks it’s not what justice really is…he must think…_

He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the noise and lights all around him, and wishing with the same hopeless desperation as before that this could somehow be some sort of nightmare.

 

\+ + + + + +

 

It had been the longest night of his life, filled with more horrors than he could possibly imagine, and now they were over, but Jeremiah couldn’t sleep. He could hardly believe everything had happened on the same night…that it had only been a matter of hours ago that he had first seen Jerome appear on the television screen, first realized that his brother was alive again and coming after him.

It felt like an eternity ago.

He’d waited with constantly building dread for the toxin Jerome had sprayed on him to take effect, but nothing had happened so far. After a while, he stopped thinking about it, his mind turning to the thought of Bruce, and what he must be thinking now. He hadn’t said anything back at the circus about the things Jerome had told him, but Jeremiah knew the subject would be brought up between them soon enough…it wasn’t something they could ignore, not when it had been kept a secret for three whole years and was just now being revealed.

_He must hate me._

Giving up on any sort of attempt at resting, Jeremiah wandered into the workshop room of the bunker, absentmindedly flipping through one of his notebooks. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but his mind was still working so frantically that he knew he wouldn’t get any sleep no matter what. The shadows in the room looked darker, more dangerous than usual, as if there was an unidentifiable figure standing silently in the blackness, and he caught himself staring at them as if waiting for them to take shape and attack him. Shaking his head, he turned away.

_You’re just tired. It’s just your imagination._

“Do you think so?” 

Jeremiah paused, listening, certain he’d just heard a voice in the room, but not recognizing the tone at first. He was so used to hearing Jerome, enduring his brother’s all-too-familiar voice in his head, but this one was different. Almost Jerome, but not quite. 

_Still just your imagination._

“I don’t know if it is.” The voice spoke again, and Jeremiah looked around uncertainly. It would have almost been all right if it _had_ been Jerome talking…the Jerome in his head, at least…but he didn’t know who this one was, and it scared him. There was something unnerving in its familiarity, as if he _should_ know what he was hearing, but didn’t.

“You’re not real.” he said to whatever it was, his own voice echoing in the silence of the workshop, and his blood seemed to freeze in his veins. He put his hands on the table to steady himself, everything around him falling out of focus as panic took over his thoughts.

_It’s not him._

_It’s not Jerome talking, it’s not his voice._

He tried to breathe, tried to reason with himself, but there was nothing he could say, nothing to combat the truth.

_It was you._

It was him speaking, _his_ voice, but different. There was something strange in his tone, something Jeremiah didn’t recognize and couldn’t understand. But it _was_ his voice, and it was speaking to him in his head just like Jerome had, except now he wanted Jerome back, he wanted Jerome more than anything because it would be better… _anything_ would be better than that voice that was his but also wasn’t.

_You don’t want Jerome, you only ever wanted him to leave, you can’t wish for him back, you should be glad he’s finally gone, because you shouldn’t be scared of yourself…_

But he _was_ scared, because he didn’t want that voice to be him. That voice was _evil,_ there was a malicious, hard edge to it that made cold tendrils of fear crawl up his spine. And it was inside his head now, stuck there, and Jeremiah didn’t know how to get it out.

_You’re overreacting, you were worried about that toxin and now you think you’re losing your mind because of it, but that’s not what’s happening, it’s not, you’re probably just tired and you need to go to sleep and think about this again in the morning when there aren’t anymore shadows…_

“Really? You’re scared of yourself?” It sounded derisive now, and haughty, nothing like Jerome, but _everything_ like Jeremiah. Who he _could_ be. 

_What Jerome wants you to be._

“You really need to reevaluate what you choose to be afraid of, because it’s pointless and stupid to waste your time on fearing your own thoughts.” it continued, and Jeremiah pressed his hands against his ears as if that could somehow keep the voice away.

As if it wasn’t inside his own head.

_Go away, you’re not me, you’re evil and I’m not evil, no matter what I’ve done I’m not evil…_

“Come on, seriously? Grow a spine, why don’t you? You’re not going to go _anywhere_ in life if you’re that much of a coward.”

_Stop, just please stop, bring back Jerome, I won’t tell him to go away anymore, I’ll even be okay with it if he stays forever, just stop talking to me, I don't want to hear it._

He couldn’t hold back a terrified sob, and hot tears sprang to his eyes as he huddled in the corner of the workshop, trying to keep the voice away. 

_It has to be that toxin, whatever it was, and Jerome knew it would do something like this. He’s trying to drive me crazy, trying to make me be like him again, it’s his fault for all of this…_

“Would you shut up about Jerome?” The voice was sharp now, displeased, and Jeremiah cringed. “He’s not _important.”_

“Go away.” he whispered.

“Why? Don’t you want me here? You should be grateful, you know.”

“Grateful for _what?”_

The voice laughed, and Jeremiah shut his eyes tightly…it wasn’t Jerome laughing in his thoughts anymore, it was himself, it was him if he was like Jerome, and he hated it, hated it almost more than his brother, because he didn’t blame himself for Jerome or the way he was, but if it was _him,_ then he _had_ to blame himself, because there was no one else.

“Grateful for showing you who you are going to be. Who you could be. If you get smart and stop being afraid of change.”

“I don’t want to be anyone else…”

“Oh, shut up. You mean you’re really happy with who you are? Hidden away from the world like this, holed up in the ground because you’re scared of your own brother?” It was mocking him, laughing at him still, and Jeremiah shook his head.

“No, no it’s not that, I don’t want to be _you,_ I want you to go away…please…”

“Fine, if that’s how it needs to be. But keep me in mind, won’t you? Just in case.”

Jeremiah didn’t answer, only hoped through the fog of panic that clouded his mind that the voice would listen to him, that it would leave him alone. 

_Jerome, you can come back, you can be in my head again, just make him go away…make me go away, because it’s not really me, it’ll never really be me, I’m not evil like you and I won’t listen to you because you’re lying, I won’t ever be like that…_

The shadows in the workshop continued to close in around him from where he sat curled up in the corner of the room, eyes shut tight and tears streaming down his face.

 


	6. Secrets

**Chapter Six**

 

“Could you stop pacing for five seconds? You’re giving me a headache.” Selina, perched on the counter in the kitchen and eating cereal straight from the box, shook her head at Jeremiah. “You know Bruce doesn’t blame you for what happened.”

He glanced at her distractedly twisting his hands together. “I know, he told me that already.” 

“So what’s the big deal? Why are you acting so stressed just because he’s coming over?” 

He took off his glasses to rub his eyes with the back of his hand. “I don’t know.” 

It was a lie…he knew exactly why he was so on edge. Why he had been ever since Bruce had asked to come over to the bunker the next day, after Jerome had been locked up in Arkham and the GCPD had restored order to the lunatics at Amusement Mile and the riots in the downtown Gotham area.

_He wants to ask you about what you did._

_He knows you killed Jerome._

“Well, quit it, you’re annoying me.” Selina ran a finger along the edge of the cabinet behind her head. “By the way, do you ever dust this place? I thought you’d be like a neat freak or something.”

“Why are you still listening to her?” 

Jeremiah jumped at the sound of the voice in his head, the same one he’d heard the night before, and tried to push it away. That was the last thing he needed right now…it was bad enough listening to his own thoughts, but that dangerously calm voice that seemed to mock him in its every word made it all worse. 

More than ever, he reluctantly wished things could go back to when the only other voice he’d heard was Jerome’s…at least then it was something _familiar,_ even if he hated it.

_It must have to do with whatever that toxin was. That’s the only explanation…you have to find out how to fix it, or else that…that voice…will be there forever._

“You know, Miah, I’ve learned how to tell a lie really well,” Selina said, looking over at him when he said nothing, “and even if I don’t consider myself an expert, I feel like you’re not telling the truth.”

He glanced up. “What?”

“Why are you so jittery today? About seeing Bruce? I want to know the _real_ reason.” He could tell by the look in her eyes that it would be impossible to fake his way out of this one…Selina _was_ uncannily good at detecting lies, and she knew something was wrong. 

_But you can’t tell her…you’re already going to lose Bruce, you can’t lose her too…_

“I said I don’t know.” he replied, maybe too sharply. Selina raised an eyebrow.

“Still not convincing. Did something happen between you?”

“No.” He turned away. _Not yet. But now that he’s found out…_

_Will he ever come back after this?_

She hopped down from the countertop and crossed the room, putting a hand on his shoulder and spinning him around to face her. “Jeremiah. Quit trying to think you can trick me. What’s going on?”

He stared at her helplessly, half-wishing Bruce would hurry up and arrive so maybe he could avoid at least one confrontation today. But Selina wasn’t about to give up, and she wasn’t going to take silence for an answer. 

_Just tell her…she’s going to find out anyway. And maybe she’ll understand, maybe she won’t be as mad as Bruce must be…_

“He already knows what I did.” he murmured, and Selina looked at him questioningly.

“Okay, now elaborate. What are you talking about?”

He drew his shoulders up, crossing his arms. “Bruce knows what I…Jerome told him.” 

“You’re making absolutely no sense. And what about Jerome? What did he tell Bruce?”

His voice caught in his throat. “About what…I did. I didn’t tell him…I didn’t tell anyone, because they wouldn’t understand…”

“Jeremiah, whatever you did can’t be _that_ bad. I mean, c’mon, everyone knows you wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“That’s what you think.” he muttered, scuffing his foot on the floor. Selina put her hands on her hips.

“If you don’t hurry up and explain this to me, then I’ll just go ask Bruce about it, since he apparently knows whatever _it_ is.” It wasn’t a warning, only a blunt statement, and Jeremiah knew she meant it.

_Tell her, just tell her and get it over with, you can’t avoid this, can’t keep hiding from the truth anymore._

“I’m the one who really killed Jerome.” The words came out in a rush, and he pressed his hands together so tightly that he could feel them begin to lose circulation. Closing his eyes to avoid seeing Selina’s expression, he waited for her to speak, to say something to break the agonizing silence that had fallen in the room after his hurried words.

On Selina’s part, she looked impressed, which was lost on Jeremiah as he avoided her gaze. “ _You_ killed him?” she echoed incredulously, and he nodded, miserable. “Back during that whole thing with Galavan? That was you?”

_Well, now it’s out. She knows, and they’re both gonna…_

“Good for you. That bastard had it coming.” Her words interrupted his increasingly despairing thoughts, and Jeremiah’s head jerked up, his eyes flying open in surprise.

“What?”

“I said good for you. Glad to see you do have some guts after all.” 

He looked at her suspiciously, searching for any sign of insincerity, but there was none. “You…you mean…you don’t think…you’re not mad at me?”

“Why the hell would I be mad at you?” She clapped him on the shoulder in an almost congratulatory way. “It’s what _I_ would’ve done if I was in your place.”

It felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest, and for a moment, Jeremiah almost forgot he would have to face Bruce soon too. “I thought maybe you…you wouldn’t…”

“Listen up.” She cut him off before he could explain himself. “I wouldn’t call myself the master of right and wrong, which is fine by me because then I don’t have as much to feel bad about, but I’m not gonna walk out or anything because you were trying to save yourself from that maniac. I mean, what were you going to do otherwise? Sit around and let him kill you?” She scoffed. “Think about it realistically, Miah. _I_ don’t blame you.”

He gave her a small, grateful smile, ignoring the thoughts in the back of his mind that murmured, _But that’s not why you did it, you did it because he was talking about Bruce. If he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have killed him._

He wasn’t sure that would be as easy to explain to Selina, though, so he left it unsaid.

“Anyway, he did deserve it.” she added decidedly, and Jeremiah shook his head slowly.

“No. He deserved to be in prison. And it was Galavan’s fault for his escape. If he hadn’t done that…”

“Well, _I_ think he deserved it. If I had known where he was, I would have killed him for you. And Galavan too.”

“I know.” He had no doubt that Selina would have, given the chance. _But it’s over now, far in the past, and you need to stop thinking about it. Just talk to Bruce, get it over with, and everything can maybe go on like before._

_If he understands, like Selina does, maybe he won’t leave._

_He can’t leave._

Selina looked over his shoulder. “Oh, hey, Bruce.” Jeremiah froze, unable to turn around and face his friend, who was standing in the doorway watching them. 

“I can’t stay long. Alfred and I are working on something back at the manor with the owl statue we have, and I have to get back soon.”

_Please don’t go, please don’t go, you have to understand, I need you…_

“Well,” Selina patted Jeremiah on the shoulder again and turned around on her heel. “I’ll let you guys talk about whatever you’re here for. Catch ya later.” 

They both watched her leave, listening to her footsteps receding down the hall. Bruce finally turned back to Jeremiah, who chewed his lip nervously and examined the floor with sudden interest.

_Just say something, he already knows anyway, you don’t have anything else to lose at this point, right?_

“I’m sorry I left you alone last night.” Bruce was the first to speak. “Captain Gordon wanted me to make a statement and I had to go down to the station.”

He nodded, unable to say anything. He heard Bruce clear his throat and sit down at the two-person table in the corner of the kitchen.

“Jerome said—”

“Bruce, I had to.” He choked out the words, dragging his gaze up to meet his friend’s, his heart beating much too fast. “He was going to kill me if I didn’t…”

“I wanted to hear what happened from you _.”_ Bruce didn’t sound mad, but Jeremiah still couldn’t meet his eyes. “I trust you more than your brother, and I’m sure his view on things might be different than yours.”

“What did…” He drew in a shaking breath, trying not to have a complete breakdown. “What did he tell you?”

“He didn’t say much.” Bruce said quietly, and Jeremiah couldn’t tell if he was angry or trying to calm him. “Only that you were the one who killed him, not Galavan’s sister.” The words were spoken softly, but they seemed to reverberate between them as if Bruce had shouted them. 

_You were the one, it’s your fault, why did you have to…_

“That’s what happened.” he whispered, waiting for the moment when Bruce would get up and storm out of the room. _You don’t deserve this, him being so patient, actually listening to you…you lied to him, lied for three years and even now you weren’t going to tell the truth until someone else made you._

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He finally looked up at Bruce, his face pale.  _Because I was afraid you would leave me._

There was no way he could tell the truth about _that…_ not if he didn’t want to look even more like a helpless coward than ever. 

“I…I didn’t…” He paused, trying to choose the right words. “I didn’t know what you’d think. I didn’t know if you would understand…”

_No one would be able to understand. Even I don’t understand. I don’t know why I did it…there were so many reasons it’s impossible to pick one._

“Jeremiah,” Bruce’s voice cut through his thoughts, reasonable and calm as ever. “What is there to understand?”

“That…that I…I was going to tell you, when you asked me the first time, I was _going_ to tell you, but I didn’t, and I couldn’t say anything after that because I already…I already told you…that it wasn’t me.” _You mean, that you lied to him? You’ve been lying to him this whole time? And it took your own brother, a deranged evil madman, for him to learn the truth?_

“But that was after. Why didn’t you tell me in the first place?” Bruce stood up slowly, his hands on the back of the chair, and Jeremiah shrugged, guilt written all over his face. He felt like a criminal in an interrogation room, surrounded by people watching him, listening to his every word, silently judging him and thinking he must be a terrible person for doing something like…

“What did he do that made you do it?” 

_It was you. It was when he mentioned you._

_You’re the reason I did it…you’re the reason for everything._

“Jeremiah, talk to me.” Bruce sounded almost desperate now, as if he sensed his friend closing off from him. Jeremiah wanted to tell him, thought maybe he would see things his way, would understand that Jerome mentioning Bruce was enough to drive him to the lengths of killing his own brother.

But he didn’t say any of those things.

“He was going to kill me.” he repeated, even softer than before, on the verge of tears. He hated thinking about that time, which felt so long ago but always so close, burned into his memory forever, no matter how many years passed. Even if it was over, he couldn’t ever be the same, and he resented that fact more than anything else, because there was a time when he could have seen himself as someone who didn’t need to be associated with Jerome, who could be whatever he wanted, free of the shadow of his twin that now followed him wherever he went. But now he couldn’t, despite his best efforts.

Even now, three years later, he still felt like Jerome was always there.

“He was going to kill me,” he continued, trying to keep his voice steady, “and it was the only thing I could do. He _told_ me to do it, kept asking me, trying to make me do what he wanted, and I…I just…I couldn’t…” He broke off, looking anxiously at Bruce.

“I would have understood.” 

_You would have then, but will you now? After all this time? When you know I’ve been hiding that from you for so long?_

“I wanted to tell you, but…I thought you might…you might be angry and…” _Just say it. Say what you’re thinking. You’ve already told him everything else._ “I thought you might leave.”

“Leave?” Bruce parroted, rounding the corner of the table and stepping toward his friend. “What do you mean?”

“Leave me.” he whispered, not trusting his voice to speak aloud. “And I’d…I’d be alone again.”

“I _wouldn’t.”_ Bruce’s tone was suddenly much more emphatic. “I would never leave you, Jeremiah. You should know that.”

He still looked uncertain, casting another hesitant glance at the other boy. “But you…you always say how _you_ would never hurt anyone, or…”

“I won’t leave you.” he interrupted, locking eyes with Jeremiah, who looked back reluctantly. “You…you and Selina…you’re family. The only family I have. And I don’t want to lose either of you, ever.”

He stared at Bruce, thoughts churning. _He means it, really means it, he’s not going to leave you…_

_Even after all this, he’s still not going to leave you._

_And he said family. His family._

“So you’re not…you’re not mad?” he asked quietly, and Bruce shook his head, still looking straight at Jeremiah so the latter couldn’t turn away.

“I just wish you would have told me.” His dark eyes were completely sincere, and Jeremiah knew he _wasn’t_ angry, and he shouldn’t have even thought Bruce would be angry, because he was his friend and that wasn’t going to happen, ever. “I don’t want you to be alone.”

 

\+ + + + + +

 

“Good to see all that worrying and neurotic stress you put yourself through was pointless.”

Jeremiah woke up in a cold sweat, blinking quickly. He looked around, fumbling for his glasses on the side table and sitting up. The room was dark, and the shadows were still tonight, not closing in on him like they had before…or at least how he had felt they were. His heart, which had sped up in sudden panic at the sound of the voice he’d heard in his sleep, began returning to its normal pace.

_You were just dreaming. It was your imagination. Just go back to sleep and forget about it._

“Although it doesn’t seem to have affected your irritatingly high-strung personality,” the voice continued, and Jeremiah tensed, listening. _It’s all in your head, just normal thoughts, you’re overreacting because you were worried about that toxin, but it’s probably nothing. It’s just a voice, and who cares if it sounds like you, it’s not you, because it’s just something you made up._

“Well, of _course_ you made me up. But is that really something normal people do? I mean, I don’t think _Bruce_ would wake up in the middle of the night because of a voice in his head, would he?”

“Don’t talk about Bruce.” _Great, now you’re talking to yourself again. Like a lunatic. If you don’t stop this soon, you might really lose your mind._

“Oh, you’re touchy about him. I get it. The best friend is off limits, hmm?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Off limits from what? You don’t exist. I don’t even know who you are.”

The voice seemed to scoff. “You know exactly who I am. If you don’t, you’re much less of a self-absorbed human being than I assumed, which I guess is good for you, but still, you should at least be able to recognize your own voice.”

Jeremiah climbed out of bed, opening the door and letting in the light from the living room. It felt more _real_ like that, less like a half-dream where he was conversing with himself in his own mind. “You know what I mean. You aren’t anyone else. You’re just me, but not really. You’re what Jerome is trying to do to make me go insane like him. That’s why he used that toxin or gas or whatever it was, and that’s what’s happening. You’re just a result of that. But I’ll figure out how to fix it, and you’ll be gone.” He sounded much more confident than he felt. His worry over the unknown toxin had only grown over the past day, so much that it was constantly lingering in the back of his mind, reminding him of the voice he’d heard the night before and was hearing now; the darker, more dangerous version of himself that was frightening and disturbing. 

“Figure it out? Figure out that you’re going insane, you mean? Don’t you see that’s what happening?”

He stopped, clutching onto the edge of the door. Everything suddenly felt much colder. “I’m not.”

“How long do you think you can keep this up? This game of pretend you’re playing, I mean.”

“There isn’t any pretending going on.” Just like he always did when he wanted to distract himself, he went to the workshop, trying to absorb his attention in the new building designs he’d tacked up onto the wall earlier. “If you’re going to go on that rant about how I’m supposed to be like Jerome—"

“You really think I’d compare you to him? Honestly, he could vanish from all existence, for all I care. You could be so much greater than that.”

Jeremiah paused, surprised at that turn of speech. He was used to the voices in his head disagreeing with him, not complimenting him.

If he could consider anything that sinister voice said a compliment.

“I’m not looking for competition. I just want to leave him behind.”

“Jerome is a circus clown, looking for attention. Provoking the audience because it’s the only way he knows how to make them watch. _You,_ on the other hand…well, I see you as more of a ringmaster, if you will.”

Jeremiah frowned, his hand ghosting over the paper on the wall to reassure himself he was still awake. “Meaning?”

“You could be in control. Be something more than this paranoid recluse you’ve forced yourself into becoming.”

“I don’t want anything more than this.” And he didn’t. If he could live in this bunker for the rest of his life, not have to think about Jerome again, or any of the things that had happened in the past three years, then he would be perfectly content. There wasn’t anything he wanted in the outside world…two friends was more than enough, and he had never been one for social circles. “And I’m not paranoid. Just cautious.”

“You do seem to have been fixating on that toxin all day. I’d call that paranoia.”

Jeremiah stepped back, shaking his head. “Look, this is crazy. I don’t need to be talking to you…you’re not even real, you’re _nothing,_ and I don’t need to listen to you anymore. So how about you take your great ideas and put them away for a while and let me get some sleep.” He twisted the door handle to open it, but it didn’t move, the lock clicking as it stuck. Feeling the all-too-familiar panic rising in him, he tried to push it away, knowing the voice would latch onto it immediately. 

“Really? Running away from yourself? Your own thoughts? I thought you were better than _that.”_ It was taunting him now, laughing, and Jeremiah tried to open the door again, his hands trembling. It was only momentarily stuck, but he didn’t know that, because after his second attempt to get out, he backed away from the door, focusing instead on controlling his own fears.

_It’s not like it matters where you are, it’ll still be there. All you have to do is ignore it._

Crossing the room to the desk, he pushed aside a few scattered papers and sat down in the swivel chair, staring around at the shadows in the corners, creeping up the wall like smoke. _Stop being a baby, there’s nothing to be scared of here, you’re alone and no one can find this place anyway._

_You’re alone._

“You really want to be alone?” he heard himself…or _that_ version of himself…whisper to him. “I thought that was what you were most afraid of.”

“Well, _you’re_ not helping.” he muttered sarcastically. “And not my first pick for pleasant company, either.”

“You’re no ray of sunshine yourself.”

“Can’t you just leave me alone?” Trying to distract himself, he looked around the room. The shadows seemed darker now, and he blinked, wanting to look away. But he couldn’t…something in him kept his eyes trained on the formless black shapes that suddenly seemed much more than shadows…for a moment they almost looked like _people,_ although no one he could distinguish. If people wore dark capes and had no faces except for unidentifiable silhouettes. 

Which they didn’t, so it had to just be shadows.

“Leave you alone?” the voice repeated his words, and Jeremiah started, forgetting he’d asked a question in the first place. “No, I don’t think so. And I think you want me here.”

“I don’t.” _Arguing with yourself again…what else is new?_ “I’d rather have Jerome.”

The words sounded much too loud, and he flinched as he spoke them. _That’s what this has come to? You’ve reduced yourself to wanting the same person who’s tried to kill you at every possible opportunity? That_ does _seem crazy._

He put his head in his hands, closing his eyes. It was past two in the morning, and voice or no voice, he was tired. “Just shut up for a while and leave me alone. You’ve done enough talking already.”

It almost felt like he really was the one in charge when he spoke, but he knew it wasn’t true. He had never felt more vulnerable, attacked by his own thoughts. _There’s nowhere you can be safe. Nowhere to hide from everyone, because you’ll always have yourself too, and sometimes that’s worse._

 

\+ + + + +

 

“Jeremiah, I know you’re dedicated to your work, but really, you need to think about yourself sometimes.”

He looked hazily up at Bruce, who was standing on the other side of the desk, and picked up his glasses, which had slipped off his face once he’d finally fallen asleep the night before. He hadn’t heard his friend enter the bunker, and now Bruce was shaking his head at him in a way that could only be described as a mother hen.

“I’m fine.” he insisted to the young billionaire, stifling a yawn. “Guess I just forgot to go to bed.”

_Or you wouldn’t let yourself. Thanks to that voice._

Bruce crossed his arms decidedly. “Well, I’m not going to let you keep doing this. You’ll wear yourself down.”

He ran a hand through his hair, blinking his eyes tiredly and trying not to look as exhausted as he felt. “It’s really okay. It won’t go on forever.”

“How would you feel about me hiring an assistant for you?” Bruce asked, picking up a pencil and tapping it on the edge of the desk contemplatively. Jeremiah’s head shot up.

“Um, excuse me, what?”

“An assistant.” Bruce repeated, and Jeremiah could tell he’d been thinking on the idea for a while. “You know, someone to help out around here."

"Someone to help out? Wouldn't that be weird, though?" He was still only half-awake, and not thinking about the things they had talked about the day before...how Bruce had found out the truth about Jerome's death. If he had been in complete control of his senses, he might have felt in more of a cautious mood, wondering if Bruce was going to reconsider his stance on the matter, but he wasn't thinking of that now.

Bruce shrugged."I was also…uh, I don’t know if this is something you’d be interested in, but I was thinking maybe you’d like to possibly contribute some of your ideas to Wayne Enterprises. For when they put up new buildings and things like that.”

Jeremiah stared. “You’re offering me a job at your company?” 

“I’m not trying to force you into it or anything, I just thought you might like something like that…”

“Bruce, you’re serious?”

His friend looked up. “Completely. Are you interested?"

“If…if you would be okay with that…” 

"Well, I wouldn't be offering if I wasn't okay with it, would I?" he laughed. "Jeremiah, you helped build Wayne Plaza. Don't you realize how important that is? They could use someone like you at the company."

Jeremiah smiled shyly, trying to contain his enthusiasm. Working for Wayne Enterprises on architecture would be a dream come true, but he had to think of the practicality of it. It would mean working with other people, and meetings, and business deals…

“And if you had an assistant, you wouldn’t have to worry about technical details.” Bruce interrupted his train of thought, answering his question before he could ask it. “They could handle the business side of everything for you.”

Jeremiah frowned. “How would you be able to find someone trustworthy?”

“I can find the right people if I need to.” Bruce said confidently. “Remember, I’m a Wayne. So I have some influence if it’s necessary. I promise I'd find someone you could have complete faith in.”

He wasn’t fully convinced, but it was hard to turn down any of Bruce’s offers. And besides, he'd gotten about a total of four hours of sleep last night, so he was still groggy after waking up. “I wouldn't know what to do with an assistant. But I guess I’ll think about it. I _can_ do things for myself though, you know.”

“I know.” his friend hurried to say, leafing through the piles of building designs and sketches that sat piled across the desk. “I only want what’s best for you, Jeremiah. That’s what I always want.”


	7. Ecco

**Chapter Seven**

 

“Bruce, I didn’t think you really meant it.” Jeremiah tried to disentangle himself from his friend’s grasp, but Bruce continued to drag him down the hallway, ignoring his protests.

“Come on, it’ll be fine. Besides, you agreed to it.”

“I didn’t, I said I’d _think_ about it.”

“Well, yes, but you know me. I like to keep my promises. And I promised you that I’d find someone who fits this job perfectly.”  
Jeremiah frowned. “But I don’t even need…”

Bruce shook his head at his friend. “Nope, no excuses. Look, just do this for me, won’t you? To make me happy? It’ll put my mind at ease to know you’re not alone here all the time.”

“I _like_ being alone.” 

“You want the Wayne Enterprises job, right? You’ll need an assistant as a go-between for you unless you want to work in an office with other people, you know.”

Jeremiah paused, his eyes narrowing. “Bruce, you didn’t offer me that job so you could coerce me into this assistant setup, did you?”

Bruce threw a guilty grin over his shoulder, continuing down the hall. “It’s called the art of persuasion, Miah.”

His mouth fell open. “Wait, you’re serious? You really did that? Honestly, Bruce, don’t you think if you have to trick me into doing this than maybe it’s not worth it?”

“It can’t be that bad. And it was the only way I could get you to agree.”

“Oh, so you don’t really want me working at your company?” He stopped walking, hoping Bruce might not notice and go on without him. Unfortunately, his friend didn't even have to turn back to notice, and caught his sleeve in his grip, propelling him toward the living room.

“Of course I do! I just thought the offer might help…convince you to go through with my idea.”

“I don’t need anyone else. I have you.”

“Shh, I said I’m not listening to excuses.” Bruce opened the living room door and hauled Jeremiah inside. The latter pulled away, but when Bruce showed no sign of letting him escape, he gave in and followed his friend reluctantly through the door, making no attempt to look happy about the situation. It wasn’t that the idea of an assistant didn’t appeal to him…maybe if he was someone like Bruce, who was used to people working for him, then it would be different. But he wasn’t like Bruce, and the very thought of someone as his _employee…_ it was strange and uncomfortable.

But the Wayne Enterprises job appealed to him, so if this was what he would have to do to get it, then he would at least try to be appreciative. And at least this had distracted both of them from what Jeremiah had told Bruce just a week ago about killing Jerome. Neither of them had spoken about it, and nothing felt different between them, but Jeremiah was still grateful for the diversion. Now that the truth was out between them, he knew he should be relieved, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of uncertainty, the suspicion that their relationship might have been strained even if there didn’t seem to be any sort of difference. 

The young woman waiting in the living room stood up when they entered, tucking a wisp of blonde hair behind her ear. Jeremiah, who found himself automatically hiding behind Bruce so his friend could do the talking, looked over at her uncertainly. 

_What’s an assistant even supposed to do? Is it like a secretary?_ Realizing he didn’t exactly know what secretaries did either, he stifled a hopeless sigh. _I have no idea what I’m doing._

Bruce was saying something to the young woman, and she nodded, giving Jeremiah a small, professional smile. He was so lost in thought that he forgot to smile back, and by the time he remembered, she wasn’t looking at him anymore. The strained smile fell from his face dejectedly.

_Great, now she thinks you’re an asshole too. Aren’t you the king of first impressions?_

“…and now I’ll let you two get to know each other, if you want.” Bruce finished, and Jeremiah looked up sharply, nerves flooding back in full force. 

_Nonono don’t go, don’t leave me here by myself, I don’t even know her and you’re gonna leave me alone?_ He looked pleadingly at Bruce, silently begging him to stay, but his friend didn’t notice, because he was shaking the newcomer’s hand and telling her how she would like it here. Turning away, he gave Jeremiah a reassuring smile, then stepped out into the hall, leaving the two of them looking at each other from opposite sides of the room. The sound of the door shutting was louder than usual, and Jeremiah jumped.

He wished he could spontaneously disappear into thin air.

She was the first to speak, her voice calm and measured and completely unthreatening. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Valeska.”

For a moment he wondered who she was talking to, and almost looked around to see if someone else was still in the room, then his eyes widened in realization.

_That’s you. You’re Mr. Valeska._

He avoided his last name as often as possible, just one of the many reminders of his connection to Jerome, and hearing it spoken aloud sent a rush of unpleasant memories through his mind.

_Does she know about Jerome?_ he wondered uneasily, shoving his hands into his pockets so she wouldn’t see how they were shaking, and hoping the stance made him look more relaxed, if the expression on his face hadn’t given him away already. _If she knows, what does she think about it all? I mean, everyone in Gotham knows about him, how could she not?_

“Nice, um, nice to meet you too.” he stammered, looking over his shoulder in hopes that Bruce had taken pity on him and come back. But no, they were alone, and it was too late to go running after his friend now, not if he wanted to retain at least a tiny bit of dignity.

_What should I say? I don’t know her, don’t know anything about her. I don’t even know what she’s supposed to do around here…she probably knows more about this than I do._

“You can call me Ecco, by the way.” she continued, holding out her hand. He hesitated, then extricated his own hand from his pocket and took hers carefully, hoping it would stay steady for at least the duration of a handshake.

“Ecco?” he repeated, unsure if he had heard her correctly. She nodded.

“I used to work in security, that was the nickname they gave me and I liked it, so I kept it.” She studied him scrutinizingly. “Mr. Wayne hired me as an assistant, but also as a bodyguard and any other sort of security you may need.”

“You’re a bodyguard too?” She did look intimidating, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. She was shorter than him, with a slight build, and nothing about her seemed to threatening at all. But then, Jeremiah thought Selina was intimidating too, and she looked equally harmless at first glance.

Of course, Selina _had_ held him at knifepoint several years ago back at Wayne Manor once, so he at least had evidence to back up his opinions.

“I’m here to help you in whatever ways you need.” she replied, looking him up and down as if _he_ was the one being sized up for a job. “Mr. Wayne says you’re an engineer?”

“I’ve…done some engineering work before.” He shrugged self-consciously. “Not much, though.”

She nodded. “He told me you accepted a job at his company.”

Jeremiah threw a look at the closed door he knew Bruce was probably standing on the other side of. _Yeah, because otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to convince me of this stupid idea._ “Uh huh.”

“I’m assuming you’ll want some sort of proxy to communicate with coworkers? That’s what Mr. Wayne mentioned, anyway.”

“I mean, if you’re okay with that…” He hated asking for favors like this…it made him feel pretentious. But maybe assistants didn’t think it was pretentious if that was the normal thing for their employers to do. He desperately wished Bruce was here…he would know the answers to those things.

Ecco gave him a half-smile, breaking through her professional, somewhat cold exterior, and her expression was almost kind for a moment, her dark eyes friendly. 

“It’s my job, Mr. Valeska. Of course I don’t mind.”

He winced. “Um, about that. The Mr. Valeska thing.” Clearing his throat, he looked around the room, anywhere but at her. “I don’t…I don’t really…no one’s ever really called me that, and it’s just kinda weird to, um…” _Don’t kid yourself. You don’t like to be reminded of Jerome. That’s why you don’t like it._

“Mr. Jeremiah, then?” she offered, and he grimaced.

“It feels so _formal,_ I…”

“What about Mr. J?”

He considered that for the span of half a second. “No.”

“What would you like me to call you, then?” she asked, tilting her head. 

“I mean…there’s nothing wrong with calling me by my regular name, is there? That’s what everyone else does.” He sounded almost apologetic, and his gaze faltered, fixing on the ground. _You don’t know the next thing about what assistants do. Is that even normal, for them to call their employers by their first names? Do you think she would mind? It’s not weird, is it?_

“Jeremiah, then.” Ecco agreed, nodding, and he stifled a relieved sigh, trying to push away the tension that filled him. _This Wayne Enterprises job better be worth it._ “That’s a nice name, by the way.”

“Oh. Thanks. S-so is yours.” He clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the floor, wishing Bruce would come back.

“Would you like to discuss the criteria of the job?” she asked after a beat of silence. Jeremiah rubbed the back of his neck.

“I…I guess so?” _What criteria?_ “Did…did Bruce mention what sort of stuff…”

She pulled a neatly folded piece of paper from her pocket. “He gave me a list of things he thought you may like assistance with. But I was wondering if there was anything you’d care to add.”

He didn’t even look at the list…if Bruce had made it, then it was probably completely comprehensive and anyway, he wanted to get this conversation over with. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Ecco…she was still intimidating, and he couldn’t tell if she liked him or not, but despite that, he didn’t mind her…but the concept of having to give orders to someone, and moreover knowing she would be in the same house as him all the time, wasn’t something he looked forward to. “No, that’s…probably everything.” he told her, inching back toward the door. “Actually, how about I go find Bruce and you can make sure you’ve got everything he wanted to tell you—"

“Mr. Wayne said he had to get back to his own house and work on some business situations that had come up.” Ecco interjected before Jeremiah could make his escape. 

“Bruce _left?”_ He stared at her miserably, one hand on the doorknob. She nodded.

“But I’m sure he’s already given me the information I’m supposed to have. Don’t worry about that.”

“…okay.” Jeremiah was already resigning himself to his fate, but that didn’t make it any more of a pleasant prospect. “Um…th-there’s a guest bedroom that way,” he nodded to one of the doors leading off from the living room, “if you want to take it. I hope it’s big enough…”

“I’m sure it’s perfect.” Even though she didn’t smile, there was a warmth in her expression that made him think, at least for a moment, that maybe, despite his uncertainties, this might not be the worst thing in the world after all.

 

\+ + + + + +

 

“These people are _idiots.”_ Jeremiah mumbled under his breath, sprawled out on the couch and reading over a stack of papers Ecco had brought from Wayne Enterprises the day before. He had started working at the new job during the last week, under the old pseudonym Xander Wilde (he didn’t want to risk any conflict with colleagues if they knew he was related to the criminal currently locked up in Arkham Asylum, despite Bruce’s arguments that he would fire anyone who tried to cause trouble), and although he was reluctant to admit it at first, it did help to have an assistant to communicate with the company for him…if he had to work with these people face-to-face, he would have lost his mind for certain.

“I mean, seriously, they don’t know _anything_ about structural engineering.” he continued, and Ecco looked up from where she was curled up in an armchair with a mug of tea and a book.

“They were asking about you yesterday, by the way.” she commented, and Jeremiah glanced over at her in surprise, having forgotten she was there in the first place.

“About me?” he repeated, and she nodded.

“They were wondering why you won’t meet with them yourself. Some of them were saying that they recognize your name from working on something with Thomas Wayne.”

“Wayne Plaza.” he supplied, adjusting his glasses. “But that was a while ago. They still remember that?”

“Apparently.” she shrugged. 

“Oh.”

“I know it’s none of my business,” she continued, turning the page in her book, “but why don’t you meet with them? Did something happen with the Wayne Plaza job?”

Jeremiah was silent, staring up at the ceiling, arms crossed behind his head. _If only it was that simple._ It had never even come up in his thoughts as a consideration to actually associate with anyone outside of his few friends…whether that was born out of his deeply rooted fear that strangers would automatically compare him to his brother, or because he refused to trust anyone unless he truly knew them well enough. _Are you really going to live the rest of your life like this? Hiding from the world? Doesn’t that make you the coward you’ve always seen yourself to be?_

But on the other hand, the last time he had trusted someone who _wasn’t_ one of his friends, things had gone very, very badly. 

And even if Galavan was dead now, and the past behind him, he wasn’t going to take an unnecessary risks anymore.

“It wasn’t the job.” he answered slowly, running his hand over the scar on his arm as he always did when he thought about Galavan and Jerome and everything that had happened three years ago. “I just prefer to stay out of the public eye.”

“Because of your brother?” she asked quietly, and Jeremiah looked at her anxiously, searching her face for any sort of reaction. _Of course she knows about Jerome, anyone who’s been in Gotham for more than a few days knows about him now…but what does she really know? She doesn’t think I’m involved with him, does she?_ He’d grown to hesitantly acknowledge that he didn’t mind having her around during the past week, and if she learned about Jerome, then he was afraid she might change her mind about staying here.

“I’m sorry.” Ecco added when he stayed silent, turning back to her book. “I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

“No, it’s…it’s okay.” he said hurriedly, sitting up and disregarding the pile of papers that fell to the floor when he moved. “I was just…I wasn’t sure if you knew about…”

“I saw a picture in the newspaper.” she explained. “And I couldn’t help noticing the likeness.”

_Just like always. You’ll never escape him. Even if he’s in Arkham, he’s still everywhere, and you’ll never be free anymore because of it._

The bitterness he felt must have shown on his face, because Ecco’s mouth twisted in sympathy. “You don’t have to talk about it. Like I said, it’s none of my business. I was just thinking aloud, I guess.”

“I wish…” he started, then trailed off. _I wish he would just go away for good. I wish everything I did didn’t eventually have to come back to Jerome, like it always does._

“What were you saying about structural engineering?” she asked, trying to distract him from the turn the conversation had taken. Jeremiah paused, then glanced at her gratefully, picking up one of the blueprints he had been examining.

“That they don’t know what they’re doing. If they want this building to stay up for as long as possible, they need to reconfigure almost all of the design for the base of it. Right now, if they build it like this, all it’ll take is the ground shifting just once, and the whole thing will collapse.”

She looked suitably impressed, setting her book aside. “How old were you when you worked on Wayne Plaza?” 

He counted backward in his head, closing one eye to try and remember. “Fourteen.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“It was the same year Thomas and his wife died.” _And a year before you met Bruce._ “Feels like it was a long time ago. Much longer than it really was.”

“And now you’re friends with his son.”

Jeremiah smiled shyly. “He’s more like family than anything else.” _Bruce said that too. That you’re family. So it’s got to be true._ He looked back up at Ecco. “Do you…have any family?” he asked hesitantly. He didn’t know much about the assistant, aside from the fact that she she was good at keeping the bunker much cleaner than he ever had, and it was kind of nice to have someone to remind him to go to bed at a reasonable time rather than waking up in the workshop after falling asleep while working past midnight. But as for her personal life, he knew nothing.

She shrugged. “No. My parents died when I was younger.”

_Guess we have some things in common._ “Me too.” He didn’t mention that his twin was the one who had killed his mother. That wasn’t exactly something to bring up in casual conversation, if ever. “You don’t…you don’t mind being here, do you?” He twisted his hands together. “I’ve never had an assistant before, I mean. And I don’t know anything about…”

“I like it here.” she answered quickly, putting his uncertainties to rest. “And besides, Jeremiah, there’s practically no work to do aside from going back and forth from Wayne Enterprises and little things like that. Really.” She did smile at him that time, and he promised himself he would stop asking her…he already had four times that day, and she might get annoyed if he kept bringing up the subject.

“Okay.” He went back to looking over the blueprints, and Ecco picked up her book again. The room was quiet, and in spite of his insistence to Bruce that he didn’t need anyone around all the time, Jeremiah had to admit that having Ecco in the bunker kept him from becoming too lost in his own thoughts. Ever since her arrival, he hadn’t even thought about the voice in his head, and even at night, with the shadows all around him, he wasn’t as scared as he usually was. That small victory made some of the worry he carried with him lift, and although he still found himself wondering uneasily about that toxin Jerome had had the night at the circus, and what he was supposed to do about it, he didn’t think about it as often. 

_Bruce was right, just like always._

_You may like to be alone, but this is the only way to keep yourself from getting trapped in your own head._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone likes Batman/Gotham memes and such, I make 'em fresh on tumblr at @inc0rrect-dc


	8. Blindingly And Inhumanly Drunk

**Chapter Eight**

 

“Jeremiah, your friend Selina is here to see you.” Ecco stuck her head in the door of the workshop, and Jeremiah looked up. “She says there’s something you need to know about, but she won’t say what it is.”

He frowned, baffled as to what could be so urgent that Selina would go out of her way to tell him face-to-face. She had been busy helping Bruce uncover the details of the investigation they were working on together surrounding the Court of Owls…Bruce had dropped by to explain how they were connected to his parents’ death, and his work had consumed him for the past few weeks as he’d tracked down the people he’d been searching for…if she was going to give up time for her work with Bruce to tell _him_ something, it had to be important.

“She didn’t say anything?” he asked, turning away from the blueprints tacked onto the wall. Ecco shook her head.

“Just that she needed to talk to you.” Before either of them could say another word, Selina appeared in the doorway behind Ecco, pushing the assistant aside without as much as an apology. The latter glanced at the other girl, then at Jeremiah, and turned to leave.

“What’s wrong, Selina?” he asked, searching her face for some sort of clue for what was going on. She looked deeply worried, and by the way she was watching him, he knew she was trying to figure out what to say. Jeremiah felt a shiver of unease run through him.

“Hey, Miah.” she muttered, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the desk, pushing aside the clutter of books and pads of paper. “So, this sucks.”

“What are you talking about?” He knew something really was wrong now, but he had no idea what. Selina had never looked this dejected, and it scared him.

“That stupid kid has gone and got himself caught.” She emphasized her words by smacking the corner of the desk, pent-up frustration raging in her eyes. “After everything we’ve done, it’s all been ruined and I don’t…” She broke off, her voice wavering.

Horrified realization broke through Jeremiah’s thoughts. “You mean…you don’t mean Bruce?”

“ _Everything_ we’ve done!” she repeated, her tone rising in frustration. “Then these…these people and their idiot _court_ thing ruined everything and they have him and I don’t…I don't know…” 

“Selina, are you saying they have Bruce?” He tried to get her attention, and she glanced over at him impatiently.

“Yes. They have Bruce.” Her words were flat. “I have no idea where, or why, or what they’re gonna do, but they have him and I can’t do anything about it.”

Jeremiah backed up against the wall, all the air rushing out of his lungs in one breath. He stared at Selina, uncomprehending for a long moment, unable to believe or accept her affirmation of his own fears. When he finally found his voice, it was barely audible, no louder than a whisper.

“When did…when did it happen?”

“Yesterday. Alfred thought he was with me, and I thought he was at the manor. When I went over there too see if he’d found out any more with the owl statue thingy, I found out he wasn’t there, and…well, that was the only explanation.” She stared down at the floor, shoulders slumped. “So I thought I should tell you. I didn’t _want_ to, but I had to.”

“Are…the police doing anything?” he asked, placing a hand on the wall to steady himself. His voice was as calm as he could make it, but his thoughts were screaming at him, a tangled mess of fear and worry and a sudden sense of being hopelessly lost.

Because without Bruce, he didn’t know what to do.

_And what if you never see him again, what if they kill him, just like…just like what Galavan did, what he wanted to do, what if they do the same thing to him?_ He drew in a sharp breath. _They can’t kill him, they can’t, they have to let him live, because I need him, and if he doesn’t come back…_

“Gordon and Alfred are interrogating the head of the Court back at the police station right now, asking where he is.” She still spoke in that same toneless voice, the light that usually came to her eyes when talking about Bruce extinguished. “They…won’t know anything until then. And then there’s the thing with the virus.”

He stared, confused. “What virus?”

Selina ran a hand across her face. “Jeez, Miah, keep up with the news for once. That virus that’s been spread around to some people in the city and makes them go nuts. Like zombies or something. Apparently that’s something the Court’s involved in too, and the police are busy trying to stop it. But Gordon’s going to try and find Bruce.” The last word stuck in her throat and she blinked a few times, setting her face into a stoic expression. Jeremiah could see she was fighting to hide any sort of emotion that could give her real feelings away. “That’s all they can do for now.”

He couldn’t think of anything to say. The only thought running through his head on a continuous, agonizing loop was, _Bruce is gone, someone has him, what if it’s like how it was with Galavan…_ There wasn’t anything he _could_ say, anyway, because it wouldn’t matter. Nothing he could do would make any sort of difference. And nothing could hide the truth that was staring them both in the face.

“I’m sorry I had to tell you.” Selina said quietly, not meeting his eyes. Jeremiah looked distractedly at her. “But I knew I couldn’t try to hide it. You needed to know.”

He nodded, unconsciously pressing his hand against the scar on his arm. _Galavan didn’t catch him last time, but what if these people do, and what if they want to kill him too? What if it’s the same thing, and…_

“Hey.” Selina got up and crossed the room to stand beside him, trying to conceal her own worry. “They’re gonna figure out some way to bring him back. Someone will. It’ll be okay.”

“But…but don’t you remember…when Galavan…” _And Jerome,_ he added silently, almost reflexively. Selina shook her head again.

“He’ll be all right. I mean, come on, let’s face it, he’s tougher than you, and look what _you_ went through. He’ll be fine.” She sounded convincing, as if she could almost make herself believe it too. “And that wasn’t an insult, it was me trying to make you feel better.” she added as an afterthought.

“Do you think they’ll find him?” 

“They will.” She looked him in the eye intently, but he still saw the uncertainty lingering in her gaze. “They _have_ to. He’s…he’s a _Wayne,_ they’ve always been in this city. Without him…” she looked away, her encouraging speech faltering into apprehension. 

_Without him, there’s nothing._ Jeremiah finished silently, and they both knew it without having to speak aloud. 

Because for them, it was the only thing that was true.

“Well.” Selina cleared her throat and straightened up, trying to look more confident than she felt. “I have to leave. I dunno if he’s even in Gotham anymore, but I’ll keep looking until they find him. At least that way I’ll know _someone’s_ doing their job.” She started towards the door, then glanced back over her shoulder at Jeremiah, who was still rooted in place, looking more scared than ever. “And Miah?”

He looked startled, having been jerked out of deep thought. “What?”

“Don’t give up on him.” She paused, one hand on the doorframe. “He didn’t give up on you.”

The words cut like a knife, not because Jeremiah had been planning on giving up on Bruce, but because it made him think of that time in those years past, back when he had been certain he’d never see his best friend again, or anyone else in the world.

He couldn’t bear the thought that Bruce might be thinking the same thing.

 

\+ + + + +

 

“What are you doing?” Ecco followed Jeremiah down the hall, the latter with a heavy brown paper bag in his arms. “You just left without telling me and I was wondering where you’d gone to. You really had me worried…haven’t you seen the news? There have been more cases of that virus going around, and people are getting attacked.” She paused for breath, keeping pace with her employer. “Anyway, what are you doing?”

He looked back at her, his gaze bleak and apathetic. “I’m going to get blindingly and inhumanly drunk, and you can’t stop me.”

Ecco shook her head at him, standing on tiptoe to look into the bag, filled with ten different bottles of alcohol. “Is this about Mr. Wayne?” Her voice was quiet, but Jeremiah could hear the disapproval that crept into her tone. He ignored it.

“He’s out there somewhere, probably in _so_ much danger, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do to help him.” He kicked open the living room door and deposited the bag on the side table by the couch. “Don’t you realize how terrible that is?”

She sat down beside him, folding her hands and looking at him carefully. “Well, you’re not doing yourself any favors by sitting around feeling sorry for yourself. I know that’s none of my business, but my job _does_ entail looking out for you.”

“Yeah, well, _I’m_ not the one who needs to be looked out for.” he retorted, slumping down on the couch and morosely staring at the wall. “It’s just…I don’t know what to _do._ I want to help him, but…”

“There’s nothing you can do.” Ecco said placatingly. “So don’t stress yourself out about it.”

“Ecco, I don’t think you get it.” he shot back. “He’s my best friend. And…and he…if I don’t…” 

She laid a hand on his. “I only meant you shouldn’t put pressure on yourself when you know there’s nothing you can do. That’s all.”

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t help anyone much, does it?” he said bitterly. He’d spent the entire day pacing restlessly around the workshop, consumed by constantly-growing fear for his friend’s predicament, and now, after hours of endless, torturous worry, all he felt was a cold sort of emptiness that he made no attempt to ignore.

“And you're doing yourself no favors.” she pointed out. Jeremiah ignored her, reaching into the bag and examining the first bottle he found, setting it down on the table. Ecco raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t even drink, do you?”

“No.” he admitted, crossing his arms almost petulantly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to.”

“Well, if you’re not going to be persuaded out of this, then at least let me get you a glass. I won’t let you drink straight from the bottle unless you’re intending on losing the rest of your dignity too.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “ _You’re_ a lot of comfort.”

“Didn’t seem like you wanted any.” she replied smoothly, getting up and opening the door into the kitchen. Jeremiah watched her leave, his thoughts turning back to Bruce.

_What do they even want him for? What did he do in the first place? He couldn’t have ever done anything to them…he was trying to figure out who they were. And now they want to…no one knows what they want. But they have him now, and there’s nothing you can do to stop them…he was there to save you, but you can’t do anything._

_You’ll never be as good as him._

“Didn’t they card you at whatever place you got all this stuff at?” Ecco called from the kitchen, and Jeremiah looked up disinterestedly.

“Nope. The guy working there was too distracted watching the news talking about the virus thing.”

“You know you’re not really supposed to be in possession of any of this. You’re only what, eighteen? Nineteen?” She glanced back at him from where she was digging through the cabinets in the kitchen, one eyebrow raised. He shrugged.

“I’m sure that’s the least of everyone’s problems right now.”

She reappeared, glass in hand, and sat down cross-legged in the armchair beside the couch. “I do sympathize with you, you know. I’m sorry if I sound like I don’t care. I just don’t want to see you lose yourself in worrying over your friend.”

He choked on the first sip of the cheap vodka he’d bought, his eyes watering, then bravely downed half the glass when Ecco gave him a faintly amused look. “It’s fine.”

“Are the police working on it?” she asked, leaning over the arm of the chair and resting her chin in the palm of her hand.

He rolled his eyes derisively. “Selina said they were, but they’re already busy with the virus. I guess Gordon might help, but I don’t know.” Ecco could hear the genuine anxiety in his tone, disguised beneath disdain, saw it darkening his eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” she said again. “I know he means a lot to you.”

He nodded, gulping down the rest of the vodka. “How long does it take to get drunk?”

Ecco stifled a smile with a hand across her mouth. “I don’t really think it’s an established amount of time.”

They were both quiet for a long while, Ecco listening to the soft ticking of the clock on the wall and hoping, on her part, that Bruce would come out all right from this situation. If only for Jeremiah’s sake…she rarely saw anyone as despairing as he was at the moment, but then, his best friend had gone missing.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” he asked, pouring another glass. Ecco was silent for a moment, trying to formulate an answer. She wasn’t inclined to offer comforting words unless they were true, and the truth was that she had no idea what would happen to Bruce Wayne. But there was so much torment in Jeremiah’s eyes as he looked over at her that she couldn’t help herself.

“I wouldn’t give up hope.” she said slowly. “I’ve only met Mr. Wayne a few times, but he seems very capable for his age, and he also has quite a bit of influence that comes with his name. His company alone allows him plenty of power in the city, you know.”

“Yeah, I know _that.”_ Jeremiah muttered, more to himself than his companion. Ecco glanced at him curiously, sensing a deeper meaning behind his words. “If he’s in trouble because of his company _again,_ then maybe he should’ve…” He broke off, noticing Ecco watching him. “Never mind.”

“Again?” she repeated, noticing the tremor in his hand as he picked up the bottle. Jeremiah shot a look at her. “There’s been trouble surrounding Wayne Enterprises before?”

“Well, they _were_ funding a ton of really illegal underground experiments on people at Arkham, so there’s that.” He leaned back, his expression becoming guarded. “And other stuff.”

He didn’t elaborate, and Ecco didn’t pry. But she couldn’t help but wonder what he’d meant, and why he suddenly looked so on edge, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for someone else.

“Well, to my point, he should be all right.” she continued comfortingly. “And he wouldn’t want you to worry.”

“But I can’t _not_ worry.” he protested. “Bruce is…he’s…ever since I met him, he’s been the one who’s always there…and if he wasn’t…if he wasn’t there anymore…” His words tumbled out in a nervous rush, and he looked imploringly at Ecco. “I don’t know what would happen.”

“I know.” she said softly. “But you can’t give up on him.”

He stared at her in surprise. “That’s what Selina said.” His gaze faltered and dropped to the ground. “Because he didn’t give up on me.”

“Yeah, you are getting drunk.” Ecco commented, absently braiding a strand of hair that had fallen from the bun she wore it in. Jeremiah never opened up about his life normally, even if she asked, so this was a change. 

“Good.” He studied the half-empty glass he was holding dejectedly. “Then I can stop thinking about all this.”

“And kill a couple brain cells in the process.” 

“I don’t care. I just want to forget.”

“Not the coping mechanism I would recommend, but at least you’re not going anywhere.” They were silent for a moment, then Ecco asked quietly, “What did you mean, when you said Mr. Wayne didn’t give up on you?”

He blinked at her. “What did I say?”

She gave him a pitying smile. “Jeremiah, just for the record, you are going to have a _massive_ hangover tomorrow. And you said your friend didn’t give up on you.”

“Oh.” He looked dismally in her general direction. “Yeah, he didn’t.”

“What did you mean by that?” She couldn’t help her curiosity…Jeremiah so rarely spoke about himself that she knew practically nothing about her employer, who was currently slouched in a miserable heap against the couch, drink still in hand.

“I dunno. I forget.” He took off his glasses and rubbed a hand across his eyes. “This tastes like the stuff mom used to keep in the trailer at the circus.”

“The circus?”

“Yeah, I used to live there. Once, uh, Jerome dared me to try some of the vodka our mom kept around, cause he didn’t want to do it himself but he was curious, that’s what Jerome was always like back then, you know.” He leaned his face against the couch cushions, eyes half closed. “Except she caught us, which was pretty shitty. Jerome was really mad.”

Ecco looked surprised, partly because she knew he would _never_ willingly bring up the topic of his brother if he was in a normal state, and partly because until now, she’d had no idea of where he was from. “It takes you,” she glanced at her watch, “exactly forty-two minutes and eleven seconds to get drunk. Which is what you are right now, in case you weren’t aware. Jerome is your brother’s name, right?”

He nodded listlessly, his haphazard gaze turning to the floor. “Yes. I thought you knew that.”

“I don’t know much about him. Only what I saw in the paper that one day.”

“I’m not like him, Ecco.” He suddenly looked up at her imploringly. “I…I’m really not.”

“No one said you were.” she replied calmly.

“ _He_ did. He still does.” Agitation broke through the dispassionate expression he’d been wearing moments ago. “But I’m really not!”

“Okay, I believe you.” She got up out of the armchair and came to sit beside him. “And you don’t need to listen to him.”

“He tried to make me like him.” he said under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “He…he just kept trying, and I thought…I thought maybe he might…I thought sometimes he was right.” 

Ecco wasn’t sure how the conversation had gotten to this point, but it was clear her companion had some deeply rooted feelings on the matter, and the least she could do was reassure him. “Well, I know very little about Jerome, but from what I do know, you aren’t very similar.”

“That’s what Bruce said.” he replied, relief breaking into his tone. “And I know he wouldn’t lie.” 

“So you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“But I can’t forget about him.” he murmured, mostly to himself.

“Your life doesn’t have to revolve around your brother, Jeremiah. You don’t need to feel responsible for the things he’s done. It wasn’t as if you did them too.”

He groped for the still partially-filled glass of vodka, and she pushed it out of his reach. With a sigh, he let his head rest on her shoulder, and Ecco stood up, letting him topple over onto his side.

“Nope, this is not an excuse for bonding time. You can do that when you’re sober. And besides, I’m your assistant, not your therapist.” Despite her words, she gave him a half-smile. “You can continue wallowing in misery, and I’ll listen to you, but save the affection for someone else.”

He looked hazily up at her, one arm half-thrown across his face. “Huh?”

Folding his glasses and setting them on the table, Ecco scoffed good-naturedly. “I don’t know why I’m bothering to say anything to you. You aren’t going to remember any of this tomorrow.”

“Remem...remember what?” He stumbled over pronouncing the words, and she shook her head.

“Never mind.” She glanced over at him, smiling fondly when she saw he’d pulled his shirt up over his face and seemed to be on the verge of falling asleep for the next twenty hours at the least. Then she caught sight of the scars running along the side of his ribcage and her forehead creased in a frown.

“What happened to you?” she asked curiously, and he opened one eye.

“Are…you talking to…you talking to me?” he managed to say semi-coherently. Ecco stepped around the table and gently ran her hand along the scars, and he jerked away reflexively, scrambling upright and staring at her with half-focused but wary eyes. She moved back, startled at the sudden movement.

“Sorry.”

He curled in on himself, retreating to the corner of the couch and closing his eyes again. Ecco picked up the glass on the table and turned toward the kitchen, but as she went, she glanced back at Jeremiah over her shoulder.

He may have inadvertently told her some things about his life, but there was still so much that she knew nothing about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always welcome! :)


	9. The Truth Hurts

**Chapter Nine**

 

“Told you.” Ecco commented unsympathetically over her shoulder as she looked back at Jeremiah, who glared at her before pulling a blanket back over his head. “Hey, don’t blame me. You’re the one who wanted to forget your problems or whatever. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

“Do you have anymore aspirin?” he mumbled, and she tossed the bottle at him from where he was huddled on the couch. 

“Surprise, maybe you should’ve listened to me.”

"Surprise, it was still better than having to think about Bruce all night."

"You kind of ended up doing that anyway."

“Has Selina called or shown up or anything?” he asked, ignoring her. Ecco shook her head.

“No.” She turned on the television as she walked by, and a news report flashed across the screen, a montage of video clips from around the city accompanying the reporter’s voice.

_“More cases of the virus have broken out around Gotham, and we strongly advice civilians to be cautious when leaving their homes; the GCPD is working on finding the virus’s source, and until then, are instructing everyone to be on the lookout for suspicious activity.”_

“If Miss Kyle’s out there, she’s probably staying out of the way until this virus thing is fixed.” Ecco continued. “But I’ll let you know if she calls.”

“Um. Also.” Jeremiah reappeared from under the blanket. “Last night. I didn’t…uh, say anything weird, did I?” After trying to no avail to remember anything that had happened the night before, he’d been increasingly worried that maybe he’d inadvertently said something to Ecco that he wouldn’t have under usual circumstances…his first thought was maybe he had mentioned the voices in his head, and he grew even more worried that his assistant might thing he was crazy or something. She hadn’t _seemed_ to be acting any differently toward him this morning, but then, he was also fighting through the worst headache of his life, and he couldn’t say much in the way of his ability to detect how other people were feeling. 

“Anything weird?” She sat down, wrapping her arms around her knees and tilting her head as she looked at him. “Depends what you mean by weird.”

_Oh, fantastic. You’re in for it now._

“What…um. What sort of things did I say?” he asked tentatively, and Ecco shrugged.

“You started talking about your mother a bit.” Jeremiah grimaced, pressing his hands to the side of his head. He never spoke about his mother to anyone…even thinking about his past at the circus brought back memories of Jerome, sometimes back to the times when his brother _hadn’t_ hated him, and that was almost more painful than thinking about when he did. Because he knew they would never be like that again, not after everything that had happened between them, and it was a time he wanted to forget.

“Mainly you just talked about Mr. Wayne and how worried you were about him. So you didn’t really accomplish your goal of drinking your cares away.” 

“Please don’t try to make me feel worse than I already do.” he begged, closing his eyes. “I just had to get my mind off of all this.”

“But you didn’t.” she pointed out sensibly. “It was all you could think about.”

“Isn’t that always the way?” 

Jeremiah’s eyes shot back open, and he looked uneasily over at Ecco. He’d heard the voice that said those words, clear as day, and for a moment he wondered if _he_ had actually spoken aloud. But she didn’t seem to have noticed anything, and he suddenly realized it hadn’t been him, not entirely at least.

_It’s in your head again._

A spark of panic cut through his thoughts as the answer became more obvious, accompanied by crushing hopelessness. He’d been so sure that the voice was gone for good, that maybe, even after all his worrying over the toxin Jerome had had, it wouldn’t amount to anything, but now it was back, and it was _here,_ in his head, even though he wasn’t alone, Ecco was still in the room, and that wasn’t how it was supposed to _work._

_I thought it I wasn’t alone, it would go away._

“Go away?” The voice laughed in his ear and Jeremiah was sure he stopped breathing for a moment. Ecco was still watching the news, paying no attention to him, and for a moment he wondered if he should say something, if that would be better than her finding out what was happening on her own.

But no, he couldn’t, not now. Not until he’d figured out exactly what was going on with all of this, and not until he’d made sure he _wasn’t_ insane, it was just whatever Jerome had done to him, because that was what it _had_ to be.

_You just can’t stop hiding secrets, can you?_

“Why would you expect me to go away?” The voice was saying, and Jeremiah gritted his teeth, wondering desperately what had gone wrong. It had seemed like things would be all right, at least for a little while, after Jerome had been locked up in Arkham and life had gone back to normal. But now Bruce was gone, the voice was back, and there was apparently a virus raging in the city. 

_Is the whole world going crazy?_

“I don’t see why you show such little appreciation for me.” The words were cool and rational, completely sane. In fact, it almost sounded just like him, as he was now, if not for that hard edge to its tone that made it so sinister. “I’m just a part of you, like any of your other thoughts.”

_You’re not._ He clutched the corner of the blanket and shot another glance at Ecco, wishing she would say something. Maybe that could get the voice to go away. It hadn’t worked when it had been Jerome he was hearing in his head, but maybe this could be different.

It was only him, after all. Not Jerome anymore. And he knew, if anything, he should be less scared at that prospect. It was ridiculous to be scared of _himself._

_But is it really you? It feels so…different. Dangerous, even._

“I think the word you’re looking for is powerful.” the voice interjected, and Jeremiah frowned. “Some say the voices in our heads reveal what we truly want, deep inside. Power is a hidden desire of yours, perhaps?”

That was _definitely_ not true. He’d wanted nothing but to hide away from the world for as long as he could remember. And it wasn’t simply because of Jerome…he didn’t feel the need to be anything more than himself, didn’t want to become anyone recognizable. Power didn’t appeal to him…he didn’t want that responsibility.

“True enough, but consider this.” The voice was conversational, and Jeremiah tried very hard to keep believing it was just a part of his thoughts. 

_It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s just made up…_

“Everything you’ve done worth doing was because you weren’t afraid of exerting power. It’s very obvious when you stop to think about it.” Jeremiah could almost swear he could feel a soft breath on the back of his neck when the voice spoke again, and he suppressed a shiver.

_It’s all in your head._

“Killing Jerome, for instance.” it continued calmly, and his eyes widened, ignoring the headache that was pounding in his temples. “You did it because you wanted power over him.”

_I did it because he was going to kill me!_

“Oh please, you’re not still in denial over that? You know exactly why you did it.” The voice echoed in his head, too loud and too close and Jeremiah hated it.

But he knew it was telling the truth.

_I did it for Bruce._

“Well of course. You do _everything_ for Bruce.” Somehow, when the voice was the one saying it, the words stung like an insult. “But you’ve never had much trouble denying _that.”_

“He’s my friend.” Jeremiah muttered, then froze when Ecco looked over at him.

“Did you say something?”

He shook his head, avoiding her gaze. “No.” Before she could reply, he got up, disentangling himself from the blanket, and escaped into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him to block out the sounds of the news report that suddenly seemed much too loud in the quiet of the bunker.

Pacing back and forth and trying his best to ignore both the raging headache and the way the floor insisted on being unsteady beneath his feet, Jeremiah fixed his thoughts on figuring out the voice. He was certain it had to be a product of that toxin…normal people didn’t have thoughts like that, different people in their head where they didn’t belong, so it had to be something caused by that gas. It was the only explanation, the only one that didn’t involve him losing his mind.

_But you heard Jerome’s voice too. For three years. That was before the toxin or anything else._

_That was just you._

“Would you stop thinking about Jerome?” The voice sounded displeased, and Jeremiah felt a shot of triumph surge through him at that. 

“Why, you don’t _like_ that?” he murmured sarcastically, checking to make sure the door was safely closed. If Ecco heard him talking to himself, she would undoubtedly ask questions. 

“Jerome doesn’t matter. He’s not important. It’s only you, only _me_ because I am you. You don’t need that psychopath. He’s short-sighted in his thinking and he isn’t nearly as capable as you.”

“I didn’t say I needed him.” Jeremiah shot back defensively.

“But it’s what you’re thinking. You’d rather have _him_ trapped in your head again, wouldn’t you, because you’re too afraid to face the truth?”

“The truth?”

“That I am who you really are. You just haven’t realized it yet. I am who you could be, if you only accepted it.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, pressing a hand to the side of his face. “We’ve been over this. And I’m not interested. You’re just a byproduct of that…whatever that stuff was Jerome had, and he’s using it to make me think I’m going insane like him. That’s what he’s always wanted. But I’m not going to let that happen.”

It started laughing again, the sound quiet, almost soft, and strangely eerie. “You’re so sure that this is all your brother’s fault.”

“Well, what the hell is _your_ explanation?” he argued, barely remembering to keep his voice low. _This is insa…this is pointless. You’re just talking to yourself. Why can’t you ignore it? It can’t be that hard._

“Why don’t you ask him?” it suggested, and Jeremiah narrowed his eyes. 

“Ask who?”

“Go to Jerome. Ask him what he did to you. Maybe then you’ll get some answers.”

His jaw tensed and he could feel his heart skip a beat. “No. I would never go out of my way to see him again. He’s locked up in Arkham, and I have no reason to go hunting him down to ask him a stupid question he probably won’t answer anyway.” He didn’t realize his voice was shaking, or how tightly he was holding onto the bedsheets until he finished speaking.

“Why not?” It was challenging him now, enjoying the way Jeremiah’s nerves were suddenly on edge. _It’s like this…thing…likes to cause problems._ “Is it really just because you don’t want to see him?”

“Of course it is, why else would—"

“Or is it,” the voice continued, unperturbed, “because you’re afraid of what he might say?”

 

\+ + + + + + 

 

“Xander Wilde.” He looked nervously at the security guard, adjusting his glasses and wishing he’d thought to take another aspirin before he’d left. He faintly remembered Ecco warning him about a hangover the night before, and now, with the added stress of everything else, he wished he’d listened to her.

“That spelled how it sounds?”

“Yes.” He’d almost forgotten to give an alias, and caught himself just in time. This wasn’t the place to answer unwanted questions, and he just wanted to get back home as soon as he could.

The guard, who looked like he’d been a professional wrestler before settling on a job as a decrepit asylum warden, gave Jeremiah a look laced with suspicion, and the latter shifted uneasily, twisting his hands together and trying to look as if he knew what he was doing. Until now, he’d refused to even consider going to the asylum to meet with his brother for any reason whatsoever…reconciling himself to the fact that Jerome was alive again was difficult enough…but the voice had driven him into a state of desperation to be rid of it, and the only way to get it out of his head was to figure out what the toxin was, and find a way to reverse it. 

And if that involved going to see Jerome in Arkham, it was what he had to do.

The drive downtown had been terrifying in and of itself. He’d told Ecco he was going to walk around outside the bunker and get some fresh air, but as soon as he’d stepped out the door and into the surrounding woods, he’d called a taxi to bring him to the heart of the inner city, where the old asylum sat. With the virus spreading to more than the original few infected, Gotham’s streets looked like something out of a disaster film…people were hiding behind boarded-up apartment windows, police officers had blocked off crime scenes from where the civilians affected by the virus had begun acting violent, and those who were brave enough to venture out had been looking around with scared, suspicious eyes. Jeremiah had kept his head down until he’d stepped into the asylum doors, not wanting anyone to see him and associate him with Jerome. Every time he left the bunker, he was prepared for someone to stop him and ask about his brother, but today he made sure to be even more cautious…he didn’t know who was infected with the virus and who wasn’t, and he didn’t want any confrontations.

He’d felt almost relieved once he was in Arkham, the walls serving as a barrier between him and the outside world. Here, he didn’t have to worry about anyone comparing him to Jerome, because no one cared about him here. He could be invisible, just another face that nobody would give a second thought to.

Even the guard, who had momentarily regarded him with misgiving, eventually shrugged and motioned for Jeremiah to follow him. He did, avoiding the looks of the wardens and nurses who passed, and hoping he wouldn’t lose his last once of courage in the process.

_You can’t run away now._

_It’s the only way you can get rid of this forever._

_After this, you can leave it all behind. Jerome, the voices, everything. Just pretend it never happened._

He wondered, if he kept telling himself that, if it would be true.

The grimy fluorescent lights above him flickered, and Jeremiah wondered what it was like, being an inmate here. The asylum was notorious for its questionable conditions, and the way the prisoners seemed to escape on occasion with relative ease. For a second, he allowed himself to wonder if Jerome would ever escape, then banished the thought as quickly as possible. It wouldn’t help anything to speculate on that possibility.

Jeremiah was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the guard had stopped walking, and almost ran straight into his back. Catching himself in the moment before their collision, he stepped back, glancing around the man’s broad shoulders to see why they had stopped.

Then he remembered why he was here in the first place.

_Don’t run away, don’t run away, he’s locked up, he can’t hurt you…_

The guard turned around, raising an eyebrow when he saw the expression of pure terror on Jeremiah’s face. “It’s not my job to ask questions, kid, but you know who this is, right?” 

He nodded, unable to speak. The guard sighed. “Well, okay. You’ve got five minutes, and you keep your hands visible at all time. No one’s helping that psycho break out this time.” Retreating to the end of the hall, one hand resting on the pistol in his belt, the man watched Jeremiah carefully as he approached the barred cell door. His heart was in his throat and every instinct in his body told him to turn around and get out of there, he was walking straight into the waiting arms of the same person who had spent his life trying to kill him.

_You can’t go back, you have to ask him…you have to figure this out._

_You can’t keep living with that voice in your head forever._

The shape in the back of the cell, reclining on the narrow cot tucked into the corner, lifted its head and stared at Jeremiah, then scrambled to its feet and flattened itself against the door, grinning widely. Jeremiah stayed out of arm’s reach, locking eyes resolutely with his brother.

“Hello, Jerome.”

“What a _surprise,”_ his twin laughed delightedly, wrapping his hands around the bars. “The very last person I ever expected to visit little ol’ me. Truly, broski, I’m honored.”

“This isn’t a _visit.”_

“Hmm, seems an awful lot like one if you ask me.” Pressing his face against the cell door and batting his eyes at Jeremiah, the other redhead smiled at him. “What would you prefer to call it?”

“I…don’t…”

“A visit it is then. Speaking of which, or actually not, whatdja think of the new face?” He framed said face with his hands, staring at Jeremiah, who blinked.

“It looks like the old one.”

“Well yeah, it is, technically, but this time they sewed it on properly for me. Wasn’t that sweet? I guess staples weren’t the most practical idea, but hey, you do what you gotta do when you’re on the run from the cops, amiright?”

Overwhelmed at that breathless string of words, Jeremiah was silent for a moment before he trusted himself to speak. “I have a question for you.” he started, hoping his voice wasn’t trembling too much and he didn’t look as scared as he felt. 

“Shoot.” Jerome made finger guns at his brother. “And aim good.”

“It’s about the day you came back.” He paused, trying to think of what to say. _You are in no way prepared for this._

“Nifty little trick, wasn’t it? Thanks to that Dweeb guy or whatever his name was. I’m tellin’ you, there’s nothin’ more therapeutic than coming back to life after being dead and bored outta your mind…and to make the deal even sweeter, I find out I’ve got an entire cult named after me. Can’t get much better than that, huh?”

“I…I wanted to ask about…” He faltered, looking down at the floor, uncertainty taking over. The voice in his head was back, whispering accusingly,

_“So you are afraid of the answer.”_

“Ask about what, kiddo?” Jerome leaned even closer, sensing his brother’s nervousness and taking full advantage of the moment. “Take your time, I’m here all day. And all week, and all year, and—"

“The toxin.” Jeremiah interrupted, his voice so quiet that Jerome barely caught what he was saying. “I wanted to ask about the toxin.”

“What toxin?” he asked, eyebrows raised, and Jeremiah stared at him. After a moment, Jerome laughed again. “Oh, _that._ Right, right. I remember now.”

“What was it?” his twin pressed, anxiety creeping into his expression. “Please, Jerome, I need to know what it was.” He knew it could very well be pointless to ask, that coming here in the first place could have been a waste of his time and nerves, but it was worth a shot.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that? You feelin’ some of the effects, is that it?” He flashed a wicked smile at Jeremiah, who tensed.

“So you do know what it is.”

“Uh huh, I know exactly what it is.” Jerome looked at him slyly. 

“But I thought you said—"

“I said it was a gamble. Tell me, how do you feel? Notice anything weird happening? Freaky mind stuff goin’ on? Feel like you’re losing it?”

Jeremiah crossed his arms. “Can you please just tell me what it was?”

“Tell me what you’ve been feeling first.” Seeing his brother’s frown, Jerome shrugged. “You don’t tell me, I don’t tell you.”

_No. You can’t tell him about the voice. You know what he’ll say. He’ll say you’re going insane now, it’ll only be a matter of time before you’re like him, because that was his plan, it’s been his plan this whole time, you can’t tell him._

_You can’t let him win this time, too._

_You have to stop letting him win._

“There isn’t anything to tell.” he said shortly, and Jerome chuckled, shaking his head like a parent reprimanding their child.

“Oh, c’mon, I know you’re a good liar, but please. You can’t hide the truth from me, Miah, no matter how hard you try. You’ve never been able to, and you can’t now. I know what’s been happening.” He paused. “What’s been going on inside your head.”

“You do?” he asked before he could stop himself. _Look what you’ve done,_ his thoughts raged at him a millisecond later. _Now he knows, or at least knows part of it. You’re letting him get in control again._

“Course I know. I know better than anyone. That’s why you can’t hide it from me, because _I_ know what it’s like.” He grinned widely. “To lose your mind.”

Jeremiah paled. “I’m not losing my mind.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, but I can’t make any promises it’ll come true. Now, what’s been goin’ on in your head? Talk to me, I’m a great listener.”

_Just tell him. He knows already, he just wants you to say it. Give him that, and he’ll tell you what you need to know._

_It’s a small price to pay to know the truth._

“Voices.” he murmured, his own voice small. “Voices in my mind, saying things to me. They went away for a while, but now they’re back.” 

“Voices, yes. I know all about those, take it from me. There’s an entire world goin’ on in here, you’d better believe.” He tapped the side of his head with one finger. “And isn’t it great?”

“No, it’s not. I want them to go away. I’d prefer my own thoughts, and nothing else.” _Don’t start oversharing. He’s already gotten what he wants._ “So can you just tell me what that toxin was?”

“Do you want to know?”

He stared in confusion. “Of course I want to know…I’m the one who asked you.”

“Yeah yeah I get that, but do you _really_ think you’ve got the guts to hear the truth?” Jerome’s fingers twitched against the bars. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

“If you’re not going to tell me…”

“I’ll tell you. But do you really want to know?”

_That’s what the voice said, too._

He forced himself to look directly at his brother. “I need to know.” He tried to ignore the way Jerome was smiling at him almost expectantly.

“You’re into science, right?” Jerome asked, resting his forehead on the cell bars. 

Taken by surprise at this turn in the conversation, Jeremiah hesitated. “I, uh…I mean, I’ve studied science.”

“Oh, c’mon, bro, you’re an engineer. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“You’re not exactly the person I expected a compliment from.”

“Well, don’t, because I’m not gonna give you one.” Jerome grinned in what he probably thought was a angelic expression. “Anywho, you’re at least familiar with some chemistry and science-y shit like that, right?”

“Yes…”

He clapped his hands together once. “Oh _good._ ”

Jeremiah suppressed an impatient retort. “Jerome, we have about one minute left. Just say you won’t tell me and let me leave.”

“If you’d stop interrupting, maybe I could get to the point.” his brother retorted with sudden annoyance. Jeremiah eyed him nervously. “But I guess I might as well tell you what sort of terrible chemical has been invading your mind and making you think you’re losing it.” He stretched his arms over his head casually, his eyes never leaving Jeremiah’s face. “So. Oxygen. A pretty popular element, right?"

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh, not much. I’ll get to that in a second. But first, explain to me what oxygen does to a person. If they, y'know, breathe it or whatnot. Does it do anything...different...to 'em?” His smile was wolfish, like a predator watching its prey. Jeremiah wasn’t sure where this was heading, but he decided it was best to go along with it, at least for the moment.

"No."

“And what does it do to the average human brain?”

Jeremiah frowned. “Nothing.”

"Doesn't make voices start talkin' to people? Voices that weren't there before?"

"Of course not..."

Jerome smiled serenely, retreating back to the cot in the corner of the room. “And there, brother dear, is the punchline to this entire joke.”

He stared, uncomprehending. “You’re saying-”

“The toxin? That’s all it was. There were some tanks of it in that warehouse I saw before I blew up the guy, and that’s when this little plan popped into my head.” His eyes were filled with laughter, wholeheartedly and endlessly amused at his own cleverness. “It didn’t do _anything_ to you, Jeremiah. You just needed a little help in accepting the truth. And if you had to believe in a toxin to realize you’re going to end up just like me, then that’s how it goes.”

_No. No, that’s not true. That can’t be true…there’s no other reason for the voice other than that. He’s just trying to confuse you…you can’t believe what he’s saying. You can’t, because it’s not true._

“You’re lying.” was all he could say, and Jerome dissolved into peals of laughter, rocking back and forth on the bedroll as if he could barely contain his own delight. Jeremiah hated that sound, hated it more than anything, all he wanted to do was run away from this and forget it had ever happened.

_Why did you come here, you knew it would end badly and you still came, this is what it’s led to…are you sorry now?_

“I’m not lying.” Jerome replied between fits of giggles. “I’m telling you the truth…I’ve _always_ told you the truth, but you would never listen!”

Jeremiah shook his head, desperation breaking across his face. “No, you’re lying.” he repeated helplessly, and his brother stopped laughing long enough to look at him.

“You really walked right into that one, you’ve gotta admit. I mean, comin’ to _me_ to get answers? You really think I’d tell you something you wanted to hear?” 

_But that can’t be right, what else would be the reason for the voice…for everything? He has to be lying, there’s no other explanation, no other reason that makes sense. Because I’m not going crazy, I’m not becoming like him, I’m not!_

“Jerome, tell me the truth!” He pressed up against the bars of the cell, staring pleadingly at his twin, who quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Should I tell it again? You’re losing your mind, Miah, _without_ the help of a handy dandy insanity toxin. Because there never was one. Just a trick to make you see what you’ve been denying for eighteen years.”

“No, stop it, just tell me the _real_ truth.” He felt like _he_ was the one in the cell, trapped, with no escape in sight. “Please, _please_ Jerome, stop lying to me!”

“No lies here.” He opened his arms wide. “I did say you wouldn’t want to hear it, but you asked anyway. Didja get what you wanted?”

His head was spinning, aching worse than before, and his throat felt dry. Nothing seemed real…it was all a bad dream, just like that night at the circus when Jerome had lured him into that hellhole of chaos and depravity and threatened to kill him again.

_Except that was real._

And this was real too, despite everything he did to try to deny it.

_But it can’t be, it can’t, I’ve tried so hard…I know I’m not like him, I’m not going to become like him…I can’t…_

“Welcome to my world, Miah!” Jerome’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Who knows, maybe in a little while you can come take a little stay here at Arkham yourself! We could be neighbors, wouldn’t that be fun!”

“Shut up.” he whispered, his voice catching in his throat. He wanted to go home, back to the bunker, back to Ecco, who would make sure no one would bother him, back to the solitude he loved so well, back to Bruce…

But then he remembered Bruce was missing, and he _wasn’t_ home, he was standing in the hall of the old asylum, listening to his brother, his brother who he’d thought would stay dead, was telling him he had been losing his mind this entire time.

“Oh, but Jeremiah, you have to admit, it’s my best joke yet!” Jerome continued mercilessly. “Maybe I picked the wrong profession, I could’ve made a great comedian! Betcha I’d give _killer_ performances!”

_No, it’s not a joke, it’s not, and it’s not funny, either. He’s lying, you have to believe he’s lying. You have to._

He jumped when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, jerking around to see the stone-faced guard standing behind him. “Time’s up, kid.” he rumbled, ignoring Jerome, who was still laughing wildly in his cell. Jeremiah nodded, his eyes fixed in disbelief on his twin, his thoughts churning sickeningly. 

_Please tell me it’s not real, that you’re lying, that it really was some sort of toxin, that’s what it has to be. This can’t happen by itself, that can’t happen to me._

“You can walk away from me, but you can’t walk away from the truth!” Jerome hollered at him as Jeremiah followed the guard numbly down the hall. Against his will, he looked back, seeing his brother up against the bars, a face-splitting grin stretching across his face. “Come back an’ see me soon, Miah…now that you know we’re the same, we could have a lotta fun together! This city won’t burn itself down, y’know!”

_Ignore him, just ignore him, don’t let him get to you. Don’t believe what he says, it can’t be anything but lies, it can’t be._

But Jerome had, for as far back as he could recall, only ever told him the truth.

_That doesn’t mean anything. This is still a lie. He’s just trying to convince you that you’re the same again, and this is no different than anything else. There was a toxin, you know there was, and you’ll find out how to fix everything and the voice will go away for good…_

He tried to believe it, but he knew, in his innermost thoughts, that it wasn’t true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments :) thanks for reading!


	10. Stuck In The Middle

**Chapter Ten**

 

“Are you _trying_ to make my job more difficult?” Ecco asked sharply, close on Jeremiah’s heels as he hurried wordlessly down the hall of the bunker toward the workshop. “That virus is spreading through the entire city more and more every day, and you actually thought it was a good idea to go out there _alone?_ Without telling me, too? I just can’t catch a break from you.”

_You don’t understand,_ he wanted to tell her, but he couldn’t, because he didn’t trust himself to speak. He could barely put two thoughts together, let alone form any sort of coherent response to her scolding. So instead, he ignored her, despite her very evident increasing frustration at such a response.

“And besides, what could have possibly been so important that you would leave like that when you already knew how dangerous it is right now? There can’t be anything worth risking your life for out there, right?”

_What about sanity?_ he almost asked aloud, but caught himself just in time. _No, you can’t tell her anything. If she finds out…if she learns about any of this…_

“Fine, don’t talk to me then.” Ecco tossed her head, clearly at her wit’s end with her employer. “It’s not like you ever listen to anything I say, anyway.” She stalked off down the hall, and Jeremiah watched her leave before disappearing into the workshop and locking the door behind him. He sank down in the desk chair, head in his hands, and tried to think.

_Jerome could still be lying. He could be trying to make you doubt yourself. You don’t have any reason to suddenly start believing anything he says…you know he already wants you to admit you’re losing your mind, and he’ll do anything to prove it._

_But why not say it was a real toxin, then? It would still prove what he wants…if this was all happening because of that, then he would still be right, in the end._

_He doesn’t have any reason to lie about this._

_There’s nothing he can gain from a lie._

He could feel the panic setting in, the claustrophobia that came along with it filling his senses and every breath suddenly seeming much too difficult to draw. He looked around the room, wide-eyed, trying to ground himself, to not let anything take over his rationality. He was _always_ logical, always clear-thinking in everything he did, and no matter what, that couldn’t change. It couldn’t, because his mind was his greatest strength, and if that was lost, or warped beyond repair…

_You’d be nothing._

“A necessary reinvention might be in order, if that were the case.” Without the slightest warning, the voice was back, and Jeremiah whirled around, positive he’d heard it from behind him. But there was no one there, just like always, and that made it almost worse. If he could _see_ the owner of the voice, just like he’d seen Jerome, then at least he wouldn’t have to fixate on the fact that it was locked in his head, just another one of his own thoughts. But there was nothing, and he couldn’t do anything about it. 

Then again, he wasn’t sure he truly wanted to see that version of himself. The voice alone was frightening enough.

_Stop letting this control you. You’re supposed to be the one in control, you should have power over your own mind, right?_

“Oh, you, back with the power thing again.” The voice sounded almost smug. “I did tell you, remember? That you had a subconscious desire for power? And you just admitted it to yourself.”

“I didn’t admit anything.” he said softly before he could catch himself. _No, stop, you’ve got to ignore it, you’re the one in control, you’re the one who gets to decide what goes on in your mind._

_No matter what Jerome says, you’re not going crazy._

_It has to be something else…stress, or thinking there really was a toxin and imagining all this, or something like that. It has to be._

“Does it really?” His shoulders stiffened at the sound of a new, but familiar, voice. _God, he’s back._

_They’re both here now, oh God, it’s getting worse._

He turned around slowly, reluctantly, to see Jerome (or the one in his head, at least) perched on the desk he seemed to frequent whenever Jeremiah’s imagination conjured him up. “So you decided to come back.” he said flatly, defeat showing unrestrained in his face. There was no point in hiding anything from either of them…they were in his own head, anyway, and they knew everything he was thinking. 

“Oh, no, you decided that.” Jerome replied with his trademark smile, leaning back on his wrists and swinging his legs against the side of the desk. Jeremiah flinched, hoping it wouldn’t dent the expensive mahogany, then remembered he wasn’t really there, if he went and stood by the desk, there would be nothing there.

_Don’t let him be real. There’s already one real Jerome, you don’t need to create another._

_One alone is bad enough._

“I can’t decide anything on my own, y’know, because I’m just a product of your own imagination.” his brother continued. “But you knew that already.”

“Why are you back?” There was no point in arguing with him. “Is it because of what happened today?”

“Ask yourself that.” Jerome said, picking up one of Jeremiah’s notebooks and flipping through it. His twin glared.

“Don’t touch my stuff.”

  
He dropped it back onto the desk, holding up his hands. “Sorry, didn’t know you were so touchy about that.”

“Why are you wasting your breath on him?” the other voice asked irately, and Jeremiah looked around nervously, wondering if he would begin to see this version of himself along with Jerome. But there was still nothing, and that was a small relief, at least. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle dealing with the both of them if that was the case.

“I’ve told you this before, he’s not important to you anymore.” it added. Jeremiah rolled his eyes, relying on sarcasm to mask his fears.

“Huh, and you are?”

“Well, I’m _you._ I should be. More than that idiot you call a brother, at least.”

“I resent that.” Jerome glared, then his expression smoothed out. “But you always did think you were better.”

“I don’t know where you’re getting _that_ idea from.” Jeremiah retorted stiffly, turning away. “And don’t take your abandonment issues out on me. It’s not my fault you feel inferior.”

“Oh, _I_ feel inferior now!” Jerome shot back quickly. “Funny how it works like that, isn’t it? Nothing’s _ever_ your fault, is it? Because the golden child could _never_ do anything wrong. Or at least that’s what everyone thinks.” He got up from the desk and wandered over to Jeremiah, kicking blueprints that had slid to the floor out of the way. “I wonder how far you would have to be pushed to let it all go. Let everyone see what’s inside. What you’re really like.”

“I didn’t _ask_ for this.” he muttered. “I didn’t want you to be in my head. And it doesn’t mean I’ll become _you,_ Jerome. Just because we’re twins doesn’t mean we have to be the same. And just because we share a _connection_ or whatever you call it, doesn’t mean I’m going to give into what you want.”

“So you finally admit it.” His brother looked at him from under half-closed eyelids, smiling slyly. “You admit the connection.”

Jeremiah flinched. “I’m not going to go so far as to completely deny any sort of connection—"  
“You used to.”

“Well, can’t I realize that we may have some semblance of association without you forcing this idea of being identical on me?”

“But we are identical.” 

He glared. “Seriously, Jerome, stop with the jokes.”

“C’mon, bro, you know I can’t do that.” His twin gave him a mockingly pitiful look. “Without a good joke or two, what’s the point of anything?”

“Maybe some peace and quiet for once.” 

“Heaven forbid _that_ ever happen.” Jerome followed his twin back to the desk, where Jeremiah paced back and forth, trying to think without the voices getting in the way.

_This must be happening because of nerves. You’re worried about what Jerome told you. That has to be it. Once you get this really, truly figured out, maybe they’ll go away for good._

Maddeningly, incessantly, the rest of his thoughts were whispering, _There’s no destroying this. It’s going to stay with you forever._

_Or at least until you become what it wants you to be._

“I don’t see why you feel the need to continue forcing Jerome into existence.” the voice that was his complained, breaking from its soft monotone for a moment into something a bit more displeased. “You rely on him so much, it’s really very pathetic.”

Jeremiah looked up sharply. “I don’t rely on him.”

From behind him, Jerome scoffed. “Is it your goal in life to deny every single thing we ever say to you? Seriously, it’s like you enjoy arguing with yourself. How exhausting.” He feigned a yawn.

“It’s just not true.” Jeremiah insisted. “I don’t rely on you, or on anyone. I can do things on my own.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s entirely true.” the voice said thoughtfully. “Are you _really_ sure there’s no one you put at least _some_ reliance on?”

He knew what it was saying before the first sentence was finished, and his shoulders slumped as memories of the past few days returned to his consciousness. 

_Bruce._

_He’s still missing._

_And you’re here, picking fights with yourself because you think your brother and some stupid ridiculous evil version of you are saying things when they aren’t, and there’s no one else around. When will you start to realize how pointless this all is?_  

“I don’t think it’s pointless at all.” the voice remarked. “We’re helping you. Well, I am at least. I can’t say the same for your moron of a twin.”

“Aw, shucks, bro, you just can’t quit with the compliments, can you?” Jerome interrupted venomously, his voice seething with derision. “Better be careful or people might start to suspect ya don’t appreciate me.”

“What a revelation _that_ would be.” Jeremiah shot back. “And no one here is helping me.The most helpful thing you could do would be shutting up.”

There was a knock at the door, interrupting his thoughts, and Jeremiah pulled it open to see Ecco standing on the other side, looking at him with hands on her hips and a questioning expression.

“Is there someone else in there?”

He looked over his shoulder instinctively, as if expecting her to see Jerome. _But she won’t, and it’s not really Jerome, so stop thinking like that._ From the desk, his brother grinned.

“No, of course there’s no one else.” he answered her, hoping his voice wouldn’t give him away, or the look in his eyes. “Why?”

“I thought I heard you talking to someone.” She strained to look over his shoulder, clearly unsatisfied with his answer. “Weren’t you?”

He straightened the collar of his shirt nervously. “No. It’s not like I can magically produce company out of thin air.” 

_But you can. Not exactly company you enjoy associating with, but it’s the same thing, when all’s said and done._

_You can never stop lying, can you?_

Ecco looked at him steadily. “When are you going to tell me what you were doing downtown?”

He stared back defensively. “I don’t think that’s really any of your business.”

“It is literally my _only_ business.” she snapped. “I don’t know if you recall this, but you actually employed me. Or your friend Mr. Wayne did, at least. And it’s part of my job to watch out for you.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need a babysitter following me around all day, I can go wherever I want.” From behind him, he heard Jerome laugh.

“That’s the spirit, broski. You tell her.”

He resisted the urge to glare at his twin, knowing Ecco would catch the movement and become even more suspicious. “And I’m back here anyway, right? So what’s the big deal?”

“Jeremiah.” She placed one hand on his chest and resolutely pushed him into the workshop, straight into the swivel chair behind the desk. He sat down, scowling at her even if it _did_ look petty and childish. Ecco stood in front of him, her arms crossed and mouth drawn into a thin line. If Jeremiah wasn’t so occupied with being afraid of the voices in his own head, he might have been afraid of her. “Maybe this wasn’t _clear_ to you when you decided to be stupid and go running around the city, but there is a virus out there,” she jabbed a finger at the door to emphasize her words, “and people are _dying._ They’re saying it’s like a madhouse in the streets, and the last thing I need is for you to get mixed up in any of this. The last thing you need, too.”

“Okay, but—"

“No, shh, I’m not finished.” she cut him off before he could protest. “You can’t justify that. I don’t care what sort of excuses you have…weren’t you even listening to the news last night? And didn’t you hear about the people who’ve been infected? They’re murdering anyone they come across, and the police can barely stop them. And sorry, but if you think I would believe for one _second_ that you could stand a chance against any of those people, then you’re wrong.”

He decided it was his safest bet to stay quiet until she was done. It was hard to ignore Jerome, who was lurking right behind Ecco, watching her intently at every word, but he couldn’t say anything. 

_You don’t need more things to explain right now._

“—and _furthermore,”_ Ecco continued, her brown eyes sparking, “what happens if Mr. Wayne comes back and I have to tell him you snuck out and got yourself killed because I wasn’t doing my job? I can’t have that on my record.”

“It’s not sneaking out if it’s my own house.” he pointed out before thinking. 

She looked on the verge of shouting at him, but somehow managed to keep her voice even, although Jeremiah couldn’t miss the measured frustration in her tone. “Don’t you have any consideration for anyone? Think of how your friend would feel if he lost you.”

_Oh, now she’s playing the Bruce card too. Great._

“Maybe _you_ don’t remember,” he said coldly, “but it’s kind of the other way around right now. I’m the one who’s lost _him.”_ His heart twinged, and he tried to avoid the thought that he may never see Bruce again. _You can’t even consider that._

Ecco paused for a moment, noticing the look that came to his eyes when he spoke, and some of the anger left her own expression. “Okay. Well, you get my point.”

“I don’t, actually.” He looked at her dismally. “Bruce _isn’t_ here, so why should I bother about anything?”

Her expression was incredulous. “Seriously? Has anyone ever mentioned to you that you should probably rethink your approach to relationships?”

“No.” He slouched in the swivel chair, watching Jerome, who was (for once) listening to them silently. “Do you have a problem with it?” He didn’t want to argue with Ecco, but his nerves were already at their breaking point, and she wouldn’t leave him alone.

And Jerome might have stopped talking, but he wouldn’t go away, either.

“It’s just…oh, never mind.” Ecco waved off whatever she was going to say dismissively. “What I really wanted to know was why you left, but since you apparently won’t say anything about it, I guess there’s no point in trying to get anything out of you anymore.”

He fidgeted with a pencil lying on the desk. Jerome lounged in the doorway now, his eyes darting back and forth between Jeremiah and Ecco for the course of their conversation, a smile quirking at the corners of his lips. 

“Fine.” Ecco said when the redhead was silent. “Don’t tell me, then. But can you at least promise me you’ll think first before doing something like that next time? I’d kind of like to keep my job, and that’s hard to do if my employer ends up dead by being careless.”

“If it makes you happy.” he said shortly, avoiding her gaze. Ecco looked quietly at him for a long moment, then sighed and left the room, not bothering to close the door behind her. Jerome stuck his head into the hallway, watching her leave, then turned back to his brother.

“You two would be _so_ cute together.”

Jeremiah threw the pencil at Jerome, who didn’t bother to duck as it missed him by a whole three feet and clattered to the floor behind him. “You,” he said between gritted teeth, “can keep your mouth shut.”

“Ooh, hit a nerve, have I?” He bounded over, propping his elbows up on the desk and staring at Jeremiah eagerly. “So, spill the facts. You and her. What’s up?”

“Firstly, I thought you were supposed to know everything I was thinking, so I have no reason to explain anything to you.” Jeremiah glared as he turned away. “And secondly, nothing’s up. And you’re being annoying.”

“Can’t help it, it’s part of my charm.” he grinned. “So there’s nothing going on between you two?”

“No.” he replied decidedly. Now that he was alone again, aside from the aggravatingly persistent mirage of his twin, who was still looking expectantly at him, his thoughts turned back to his conversation with Jerome at Arkham. 

_Where are you, Bruce?_ he thought desperately. If Bruce was here, he would know what to do. Jeremiah might even be able to find the courage to tell him what had happened. Bruce would understand…he always did. And maybe they could figure out how to fix all this.

Together.

Because they were always together. They _had_ to be together.

“Oh, I see how it is.” Jerome pouted. “You say _we_ don’t have a connection…not even with your own _brother,_ but when it comes to Brucie, you got no problem thinking you’re meant for each other like you’re living in a rom-com.” Jeremiah gave him a dirty look, but said nothing. “You’ve gotta see the inconsistency, right?”

“It’s because I have standards.” the voice in his head responded aloofly, and Jeremiah’s frown deepened.

“Okay, you can shut up too. I can speak for myself, and you’re not helping.”

“Speak for yourself? But this _is_ you.”

“It’s _not!”_ His voice echoed in the sudden silence of the workshop, and only then did he realize how loudly he’d spoken. With bated breath, he waited for Ecco to come barging back in, insisting she really had heard him talking to someone this time.

_Look what you’re getting yourself into. Don’t you have even an ounce of self-control? You’re letting them take over your life. And if you’re not careful, you’re going to lose yourself._

He let out the breath he was holding when, mercifully, Ecco didn’t reappear. _You got off lucky that time. Don’t mess up again._

“So.” Jerome spoke up again, getting much too close to Jeremiah for comfort, “we’ve established how you feel about billionaire babe. And—"

“You’ve established nothing.” Jeremiah interrupted stiffly. He couldn’t have, because Jeremiah himself couldn’t even begin to figure out what he felt aside from knowing with everything in him that Bruce was as necessary to him as breathing, and he would do anything for his best friend.

_Anything_.

“You’re a head case.” Jerome commented, poking around the workshop and raising an eyebrow at a drawing of an expansive labyrinth Jeremiah had pinned to the wall the week before.

“You’re one to talk.”

  
“Thanks.” He gave a mocking bow. 

Jeremiah leaned his head against the chair back and closed his eyes. He hated how normal this felt. As if holding a conversation with his once-dead brother who wasn’t even really here was a regular occurrence. 

_He’s breaking you apart._

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” he said slowly, eyes still closed as if that could somehow shield him from the truth. He heard Jerome shift on his feet in the other side of the room.

“Elaborate on that.”

“This is how you’ll win. You’re making me accept you because I can’t do anything else. You’ve put yourself into my head, forced your way into my thoughts. And you know, if you keep pushing, I won’t be able to hold you off forever.” Saying it aloud stung, but it was the truth. And Jerome knew it already. There wasn’t any point in hiding it. “It’s been your plan all along.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Jerome said from across the room. “But I didn’t _make_ you think anything. It’s all on you. Blame me all you want, you can’t deny that it’s all happening in your own head.” Jeremiah heard him coming closer, and closed his eyes tighter. 

_No matter what you say, he always has a counter point. He’s always one step ahead._

_This is a game to him, and he’s positioned to take control. Just as soon as you give in and let him._

“So you see, it’s not _really_ my fault.” Jerome continued, and his voice was so close, pounding into Jeremiah’s head like a too-loud heartbeat. For a moment, he was almost sure he could reach out and touch his brother, and he would really be there this time, that he had escaped Arkham and was standing there in the workshop just like Jeremiah had always feared. When Jerome spoke again, he was so certain of it that he couldn’t suppress a shudder.

“But you’re right about one thing. This is how I win.” 

 


	11. Arrival

**Chapter Eleven**

 

Days felt like weeks and weeks felt like years as the virus continued to spread through the city little by little and Jeremiah grew increasingly certain that Bruce might not ever come back. He didn’t dare admit something like that to himself, not if he wanted to retain the dwindling amount of normalcy he possessed in life, but it was difficult to be optimistic when almost a month had passed and he still hadn’t heard anything about his friend. Selina didn’t even come by often, and he knew she was out looking for Bruce, but despite his admiration for her determination, Jeremiah didn’t want to stake too much hope in her finding him.

Sometimes his worry would be so strong that he would forget about the voices in his head for a while, and as much as he hated to admit it, thinking about Bruce and where his friend might be was a welcome reprieve from listening to them. But it didn’t matter in the end, because they would always come back eventually, no matter how he tried to push them away. Not even his worry for Bruce was enough to permanently eradicate those voices, and although he still refused to believe the things Jerome had said to him that day in Arkham, it was hard to find any sort of sane explanation for why they were still there.

He noticed Ecco watching him more closely now, almost waiting for him to slip up and reveal what had been bothering him. He hadn’t dared mention the voices to her, or how he was slowly but surely beginning to admit to himself that Jerome might not have been _completely_ wrong in saying they were similar…he couldn’t even admit it to himself, to say nothing of his assistant. But she _did_ watch him, whatever her intent, and Jeremiah tried not to show any of his paranoia of having to hide the ever-growing amount of secrets from her. 

To keep his mind off his missing friend, the growing chaos in the city, and the way his own mind was slowly breaking down, he threw himself into work harder than before, spending all day and night on the projects Wayne Enterprises sent him. When he finished everything they’d required of him and before they could give him, via Ecco, further instructions on other projects, he spent his time on an invention he’d begun years ago, but hadn’t seriously considered returning to until he had nothing else to do.

And if it was going to serve as a distraction from everything else, he would return to it gladly.

He was working on the project when Selina showed up at the bunker several weeks since she’d last stopped by, not bothering to knock on the workshop door before she barreled in, out of breath and eyes wide. Jeremiah looked up from the plans he’d spread out across the desk and stared at her.

“Selina?” She slumped against the doorway, running her fingers through her hair and trying to catch her breath. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s…Bruce.” she managed to get out, and Jeremiah sucked in a breath, part of him not wanting her to go on. For a moment, every possibility of what she could say flashed through his head…if she was going to confirm his worst fears from the past month, that his friend was gone, and not coming back…he didn’t want to hear it. But Selina didn’t seem to notice, or care, about his concern.

“I saw him.” she continued, speaking so quickly that Jeremiah could barely keep up with what he was saying. “I don’t know if it was the court, or who it was, or what’s even going on, because I didn’t stay, I had to tell Alfred, then I had to tell you, because I know you’ve been waiting, and Alfred said to tell you since I couldn’t do anything about it, but I saw him, and Alfred’s already gone there to stop…”

“Wait, what?” Jeremiah interrupted, dropping the pen he was holding onto the floor and pushing aside the blueprints. “He’s _here?_ In Gotham? You saw him?” His heart was hammering in his chest and he couldn’t bring himself to actually believe her until he knew what was going on. Selina nodded impatiently.

“In a car, with some other people I didn’t recognize. They were heading straight toward Wayne Enterprises.”

“Are you sure it was him?” he asked cautiously, not wanting to build up false hope to only have it torn down.

Selina scowled. “I know Bruce when I see him. After I saw they were going to Wayne Enterprises office, I told Alfred, and he said he’d go there right away. He called Gordon, but he didn’t answer. Guess he was too busy with the virus stuff. Anyway, I came here to tell you, then I’m going to go find Alfred and see what’s going on.” 

Jeremiah stood up. “I’ll go with you.” He sounds much more calm than he felt…his thoughts were racing faster than they ever had before, and he wasn’t sure if he should be scared or relieved about Bruce being back…he had to see his friend himself, gauge what was happening, before he could decide.

She looked doubtful. “You sure? With the virus out there, things are pretty crazy.”

“I have a car.” he offered. “It’s faster than walking.” Bruce had had the builders add a garage to the back of the bunker a few months before, when Ecco had arrived and she’d agreed to be a proxy between Jeremiah and Wayne Enterprises. Selina hesitated.

“But you don’t drive.”

His face flushed. “How did you know that?”

“You don’t have a license in your wallet.” 

He followed her down the hall. “How do you know _that?”_

She shrugged. “Hey, I’m a thief. Can’t blame me for trying to steal your wallet once or twice, can you?”

He didn’t have time to reply, because they both ran straight into Ecco, who gave Jeremiah a narrow stare. “Where are you going?”

  
He looked helplessly at Selina, knowing how Ecco felt about him running off somewhere without telling her. Luckily, his friend had her explanation prepared.

“I saw Bruce. We’re going to find him.” she said shortly, brushing past Ecco and continuing down the hallway. The latter followed them, grabbing Jeremiah’s sleeve as he tried to make his escape.

“He’s not in the city, is he?” she asked, and Selina glanced over his shoulder.

“Miah, call off the guard dog. We’ve got to go.”

He looked back and forth from one to the other, feeling very trapped all of a sudden. It wasn’t in question that he was going…if Selina had really seen Bruce, then nothing, not even his assistant, could keep him from that. But he could see the concern shining in her dark eyes, and his conscience twinged. “Ecco, I’ve got to go find him.” As if it would reassure her, he added, “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.”

She didn’t let go, clearly unconvinced. “You know how dangerous it is out there. I can’t…” 

“Look, I’ll take all responsibility for myself, all right? If it’s the job you’re worried about, don’t be. But I’ve really got to do this.”

“It’s not that, it’s—" She cut herself off with a shake of her head, shutting her mouth tightly. “Never mind.”

“Five seconds.” Selina snapped from down the hall. “Then I’m leaving, with or without you.”

He threw her a quick glance. “Okay, I’ll be right there.”

“You won’t.” Ecco said firmly. Jeremiah tried to free himself from her grasp, but she wouldn’t let him go. “You can’t put your life on the line for him.”

“I’m _not,_ I’m just going to Wayne Enterprises and…”

“Yeah? And what’ll be waiting for you there? Didn’t you say your friend was kidnapped? What makes you think it’ll be safe?”

He tried to think up some good answer to that question, but Selina beat him to it. “If you’re so worried about him, blondie, then just come with us. That way you can do your job and we can get out of here.”

Ecco chewed her lip, considering, then nodded reluctantly. “Okay.” she said slowly, and Jeremiah breathed a sigh of relief. “Let’s go.”

He didn’t notice the way she looked at him as they left, but even if he had caught it, he wouldn’t have recognized the expression in her eyes that was something much deeper than simply concern for her employer.

 

\+ + + + + + +

 

“Wow, I should’ve invested in a motorcycle years ago.” Breathless, Selina stumbled to the ground from where she had been perched between the handlebars of the motorcycle in question, one that Ecco had brought with her when she’d first arrived in Gotham and Jeremiah had had no knowledge of whatsoever until about twenty minutes ago when the three of them had been standing in the garage of the bunker. Selina had immediately begged them both to take it into the city instead of the car, insisting it would be faster, since they could take side roads until they reached Wayne Enterprises rather than sitting in traffic. Jeremiah had protested, and Ecco had backed him up, saying it was only meant for two people at the most, but Selina had persuaded the assistant that it _would_ be more efficient to go find Bruce, and Jeremiah had given in moments later, if only so they could stop arguing and do what they’d started.

Still, as he shakily adjusted his glasses on his face and tried to fix his windswept hair, he silently promised himself he was never doing that again.

Ecco knocked the kickstand out on the motorcycle and leaned it against the smooth grey stone wall of the Wayne Enterprises building, gesturing for her two companions to follow her. Selina, determined to look like she knew what she was doing and hadn’t been affected by a whirlwind ride through the city that left her more dazed than she’d expected, kept pace with the other girl, and Jeremiah trailed behind unsteadily. They silently slipped through the front doors of the building and into the darkened foyer, the lights from the street lamps outside and the deepening afternoon sun glowing in through the windows and casting dim shadows across the polished floor. Jeremiah stifled a gasp and Ecco’s lip curled in disgust as they saw the carnage all around them, bodies of security guards strewn across the floor, lying in pools of blood. 

“Damn.” Selina muttered, nudging a prone corpse with the tip of her shoe. “This wasn’t from the virus. Someone killed them.” She bent down to look at the torn back of the guard’s jacket, where a bullet hole had ripped the cloth. “A surprise attack, looks like.”

“How do you know Bruce'll be here?” Jeremiah murmured, and Selina glanced over her shoulder.

“The murdered people didn’t give it away?” she said sarcastically. “Of course they’re here. This just proves it more.”

“Also proves we need to be careful.” Ecco added, looking significantly at Jeremiah, as if she was expecting him to run headlong into the face of danger just because it was _his_ friend who was being held captive. He stepped around one of the bodies gingerly, trying to not let his growing terror show on his face. He couldn’t be scared now, not when they were so close to saving Bruce.

_You have to do it for him._

“Well, they’re not down here.” Selina said after a beat of silence between them. “Let’s check upstairs. In the offices. Or the top floor…I remember Bruce told me there wasn’t much up there yet, it’s just used for storage space. Maybe that’s where they’ve gone.”

She started up the steps, with Ecco matching her strides, and Jeremiah paused, his eyes drawn to the wall alongside the staircase, illuminated by the lights from outside. There was a body crumpled on the floor against it; the man had clearly been shot and slid down the wall until he’d collapsed. A smear of still-fresh blood glistened in the faint light, outlining the plaques that had been added to the wall, the names of the contributors and employees of Wayne Enterprises. His breath caught in his throat almost guiltily when he read one of the names, streaked with blood, looking like a scene from a horror movie. Slowly, he stepped closer, reaching out a hand to trace the letters with a shudder of revulsion, a morbid sort of fascination taking over his disgust. The moment he touched the cold wall, he drew back, scrubbing the blood off his hand on the corner of his shirt, but never looking away from the name that stared back at him silently.

_Jeremiah Valeska._

He bit down on his lip, hard, tasting his own blood. _So what? The guy happened to be standing there when he was shot. He could’ve been anywhere…in front of any of the names. There isn’t anything to make from it, because it’s just what happened. It doesn’t have anything to do with you._

Then, just as quickly, it was followed by a second thought. _I wish Bruce had left it as Xander Wilde._ There was some comfort in hiding behind an alias…it made him forget about Jerome, because there was nothing to connect him to his brother. But when it was him, his real name, who he really was, then it became easier to see the shadow of his twin in everything he did. It was as if he didn’t exist sometimes…more like he was just a carbon copy of Jerome, going through the motions of living his own life, but always returning to his twin, in the end. 

There was a low, mocking laugh behind him, and Jeremiah glanced back with wide eyes, but there was no one there. He stared for a long moment, searching for his brother, even just the one in his head ( _that_ Jerome had become so real now that Jeremiah was almost as afraid of him as the one who was locked up in the asylum). Before he could see anything, Selina’s sharp whisper broke the silence. 

“Miah, you coming or what?”

He nodded wordlessly, trying to shake the cold feeling that had settled over him as he’d stared at his name, splattered in blood, on the wall, and followed Selina and Ecco up the stairs, their footsteps too loud in the silence. A small, irrational part of his mind that fixated on the tiniest of details wondered what would happen if any of the Wayne Enterprises employees were still in the building and saw the three of them passing by…if they recognized Ecco from the times she’d been here to deliver and pick up directions for projects, then they could put two and two together and figure out who Jeremiah was…he didn’t want his identity exposed on top of all this, and kept his head down, hoping no one would see his face if they happened to cross paths.

They reached the final flight of stairs leading to the top floor, the faint, faraway murmur of voices breaking the strained quiet of the still building. Selina looked up sharply and turned to the other two following her, putting a finger to her lips warningly. They paused on the top step, Jeremiah looking over Ecco and Selina’s shoulders as they watched the scene in front of them play out. Alfred was the first figure any of them noticed, standing in one corner of the room, holding a gun. Jeremiah saw him straightaway, his eyes latching onto the familiar face of the butler, then his stare quickly darted to the other two occupants of the room, silhouetted in the late afternoon light that streamed through the windows. There was an old man with hawklike eyes staring straight at Alfred, and his hand was resting on the shoulder of the boy standing next to him. Jeremiah felt his breath stutter in his chest.

“It’s you.” he whispered, the words barely loud enough to be heard by anyone, even Ecco and Selina. In that moment, nothing else in the world seemed to matter and time stood still, the rest of the world fading away into obscurity. 

_Bruce._

_He’s back, and he’s all right, and now we don’t ever have to be apart again, not ever, and things can go back to normal…_

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Jerome’s voice spoke in his ear, and Jeremiah ignored it. He didn’t need Jerome anymore…not that he ever needed him in the first place, he added to himself…now that Bruce was home again. Back in Gotham, where he belonged. 

_Where you both belong,_ the voice in his head added quietly. Jeremiah ignored it too.

“Something’s wrong.” Selina hissed, jerking him back to reality, and he caught her staring at Bruce with suspicious, wary eyes. Jeremiah was about to ask what she meant, but then he heard the conversation between Alfred, the old man, and Bruce, and his own eyes widened in confusion. Bruce was holding what looked like some sort of electrical remote, and Jeremiah realized that Alfred wasn’t just holding a gun, he was pointing it straight at the old man.

“…we’ll reverse what he’s done.” the butler was saying, sounding much less self-reassured than Jeremiah had ever heard him before. It was unnerving, seeing the man he’d always assumed to be so certain of everything, to look like that. 

_Reverse what he’s done?_

_What_ has _he done?_

_What’s happened?_

He moved, only slightly, half a step toward Bruce, and Selina gripped onto his wrist like a vise. “No.” she snapped, her gaze darting back to the trio in front of them. “Wait.”

“But Bruce—" he began, and she gave him a death glare.

_“No.”_

“If you press that detonator,” Alfred was saying, his voice uncharacteristically worried, “there’s no going back.”

_Detonator?_

“What the hell?” Selina gritted between her teeth, and Jeremiah felt Ecco shaking her head beside him.

“You’re right, something’s up.” she whispered, and he suddenly felt a shot of defensiveness toward his friend.

“What exactly are you saying?” he whispered back, keeping his voice low. “Just because—"

“You _will_ press it!” The old man’s voice suddenly grew much louder, and Jeremiah turned back just in time to see him grab onto the detonator in Bruce’s hand and press down on it. He froze, wondering if it was linked to a bomb or something of the kind, maybe even hidden beneath the very building they were in now, but there wasn’t time to speculate on that possibility, because milliseconds later, the silence was shattered by three gunshots in quick succession. His mouth going dry from fear, Jeremiah closed his eyes tightly and ducked, huddling in on himself in a reflex instinct of intense terror at the sound. His mind flashed back to a night three years ago, in a darkened alley, facing his brother who had held a gun at him exactly the same as how Alfred was holding his pistol at the now-crumpled figure of the old man.

_“Maybe now you’ll see that you should’ve listened to me.”_ He heard his twin’s voice again, clear as day, as if that very moment was happening right now, and he wasn’t even really here. 

_“I want you to admit the truth. About yourself.”_

He shook his head, trying to forget. 

Ecco saw the look on his face and laid a hand lightly on his arm, concern creasing her own features. 

His train of thought was disrupted at the way Bruce had begun shouting at Alfred, who stood still, staring at the boy in confusion and worry. Although they were too far away from the old man on the floor to hear anything he was saying, Jeremiah noticed he was speaking to Bruce with his few final breaths before his body went slack and his head lolled to the side. There was a long moment of stunned silence between the witnesses to what had just happened, then a far-off but ground-shaking noise from out the window. From the corner of his eye, Jeremiah saw a cloud of bright red smoke billow up from where the top of the clock tower used to be. He glanced at Selina and Ecco, wondering if they were seeing it too, and by their expressions, they were. 

His attention was directed back to Bruce and Alfred when the butler began to try and reason with his ward, and Bruce leapt to his feet, looking fully intent on attacking him. Before either could come to blows, there was an echo of heavy running footsteps from the back staircase on the opposite side of the room, and two police officers burst in, intervening between the other two, who were standing above the dead body of the old man. Jeremiah started forward, confused at what was happening but certain of one thing: Bruce must need his help. Selina dragged him back, so forcefully that they almost both fell down the stairs they were standing at the top of. 

“Let them handle it, idiot.” Her voice quivered, and despite the harshness of her tone, he could hear her worry.

“What…what do you think’s happening?” he asked helplessly, unable to take his eyes off of everything going on in front of them. “Why…”

“We shouldn’t be here.” Ecco said decidedly. “Shouldn’t have come in the first place. Let’s get out before things get worse.”

“But we can’t leave Bruce!” Jeremiah argued, pulling away from Selina, who latched right back onto him with determination.

“I don’t know what’s going on with him, but that’s not Bruce.” Her voice broke, but she kept her expressions steely. “It might be him, I mean, but he’s changed. And we can’t do anything about it.”

“You don’t know that…”

“I _do._ Don’t you see what’s happening?” She gestured emphatically. “We’ve got to go. Now. If you don’t, I’ll kick you in the head and drag your unconscious body behind me.”

“And we don’t know what that is.” Ecco nodded at the plume of brightly colored smoke that was rapidly descending on the city. “But it doesn’t look good. The first thing we have to do is get back to the bunker. We can figure out everything else from there.”

“But we can’t…I can’t leave Bruce!” he repeated, knowing they weren’t going to listen to him no matter what he said but trying anyway. “We’ve got to help him.”

“Just go, Miah.” Selina shoved him in front of her down the stairs. “We’ve all got to go.”

He looked back up over his shoulder, trembling with stress and the onslaught of bad memories and worry for his friend. “Selina…”

“No, shut up. You can’t argue with me. We don’t have time.”

A sudden wave of determination swept over him and he jerked away from her, pushing past the both of them and running back up the stairs. He heard them following him, heard Ecco’s quiet but furious, “Jeremiah, don’t!” but ignored them. 

_Just say something. Make sure it’s really him. Make sure it’s not just your head playing tricks on you again._

The police still flanked his friend on either side, and Alfred stood off in the corner, gun still in hand as he watched. His eyebrows shot up when he saw Jeremiah, and cast a worried look at Bruce. 

“What’re you doing here—" he began, but Jeremiah didn’t answer. He stopped, staring at Bruce, breathless although he wasn’t sure why. 

_It’s him, it really is, it’s really him and he’s come back, he’s back home…_

Bruce stared back with eyes that seemed darker than usual. There was something in his expression…something so dismissive as he looked at Jeremiah that the redhead paused a moment, not sure what to say. 

_You don’t have to worry. It’s Bruce. There’s nothing wrong._

“Bruce…” His voice wavered and he twisted his hands together nervously. “Are…a-are you okay?”

His friend’s eyes narrowed and he continued to watch Jeremiah coldly, his muscles in his face taut. Jeremiah stepped back, unsure, then gathered up the courage to speak again.

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing.” Bruce’s voice was flat, soulless. Jeremiah felt like he’d been punched in the stomach, and backed further away. 

_It’s Bruce, but it’s not…it’s like Selina said…_

_What happened?_

He tried to say something else, but nothing came to mind, and the police officers elbowed past him, muttering something about getting out of the way. Jeremiah watched them leave, Alfred close on their heels, and would likely have stood in that same place staring after them all day if Ecco hadn’t appeared in his line of sight and shoved him toward the stairs. 

“You’re wasting time.” she gritted, throwing a look over her shoulder at the retreating backs of the officers and Bruce. “We’ve got to leave, now.” He didn’t try to resist this time, too taken aback at Bruce’s reaction to do anything else.

Outside the building, as the doors swung shut behind them, they were met with pandemonium all around, screams piercing the air as people ran past them in every direction, with no particular purpose. Ecco mounted the motorcycle, knocking the kickstand up into place, and motioned for them to get on.

Jeremiah gave Wayne Enterprises one final look, his head spinning with confusion, before following her without a word.


	12. Reunion

**Chapter Twelve**

 

“He wasn’t himself.” Ecco said quietly, ignoring the way Jeremiah was looking at her, silently asking her to stop, to change the subject. He was still shaken by what he’d seen in the Wayne Enterprises building, even hours later, and it had taken everything Ecco had to convince him to go back to the bunker instead of finding Alfred and getting answers. That had turned out to be the safest idea, since when they got home and Ecco had turned on the news, they’d been faced with footage of the city thrown into chaos and destruction, harried reporters explaining there had been an explosion that exposed an airborne version of the virus to Gotham’s citizens.

“I know he’s your friend, but you’ve got to realize that.” she continued, trying to get her employer’s attention. He was intentionally ignoring her now, and Ecco sighed, knowing she wasn’t going to change his mind. Still, it was worth a try. “Selina knew it too, and she’s just as much his friend as you are.” Her words earned a scowl from him. “You know that, right?”

“I don’t know what happened.” he said, crossing his arms. “But it _was_ Bruce.”

“I know.” She tried to appease him. “I know it was _him,_ but at the same time, it wasn’t. You had to have seen that, didn’t you?”

“What was there to see?” He knew exactly what she was talking about…he himself hadn’t quite worked out what had happened, but he knew when he’d met Bruce’s eyes there was something there that hadn’t been before. But he wasn’t going to say _that_ to Ecco…he needed to stand by Bruce more than ever. Until this was worked out. It was just a problem to be solved, and once it was over, then things could go back to normal.

_And they will. This…whatever it is…won’t last. It can’t._

“I’m just trying to help you.” A flash of dejection crossed her face, but he didn’t notice.

“I have to go find him. He’s got to be back at the manor now, and I need to make sure he’s okay.”

Ecco flipped to another local news channel, but the screen was dark. She wondered if the news anchors had been affected by the virus too. “No way. You can’t leave here until all this has been cleared up or the police have things under control.”

“The GCPD can’t even get anything under control in regular conditions.” he said sarcastically. “And I can’t wait for that to happen, Ecco.”

“Do you not see how dangerous this is?” she snapped, eyes flashing suddenly. “You’re really so consumed with the thought of your friend that you don’t even realize that it could be life-threatening to leave this place right now? How can you not see that?”

"Bruce would do the same for me.” he argued, absolutely certain it was the truth. 

“You’re sure about that?”

“He _would.”_ The words were sharp, indignant, as if he couldn’t believe Ecco would even contest such a claim.

She didn’t look or sound convinced. “You say that like he’s done it before.”

“He has.” The moment he spoke, Jeremiah’s entire expression changed, shifted from irate and defensive to withdrawn, his face an impassible mask. Ecco watched him carefully, unable to hide the curiosity in her eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” He got up and began pacing the room, avoiding her stare. “Just…never mind.”

Ecco was silent, torn. She could see he didn’t want to talk about whatever he’d been thinking, but she couldn’t stand not knowing anything about her employer anymore. It was bad enough that he would never tell her anything of his own accord, but now he was outright avoiding her questions too. Hoping she wouldn’t lose her nerve, she followed him, choosing her words slowly.

“Jeremiah.” He glanced back at her, suspicion in his eyes, fingers curling around his other arm tightly. She’d seen him do the exact same thing multiple times before, always when he felt she was intruding or prying into his life, and she scar he was hiding hadn’t escaped her notice either. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He looked away from her, suppressing a shiver, and Ecco could see he was trying to figure out a way to escape this conversation. But she wasn’t going to let the subject drop. “I don’t know anything about you.” she continued, stepping in front of him as he tried to slip out the door. “I mean, I know you’re friends with Mr. Wayne, and I know about your brother, but I—"

  
“You don’t know anything about Jerome.” he interrupted, almost possessively. His expression became appalled half a moment later, as if he hadn’t meant to say anything. The next words he spoke were quieter, and he stared at the ground. “No one _really_ knows.”

Ecco knew there was more to that claim than he saw saying aloud, and added carefully, “No one besides you, you mean?”

He looked surprised and guilty at the same time, then turned and stalked away from her. She knew she’d guessed exactly what he meant, and that he didn’t want to talk about it. “Jeremiah, please. I need to know.”

“You need to know what?” He wheeled around, his eyes dark and warning her to stop. Ecco didn’t move. “What does _any_ of this matter to you?”

“I need to know who you really are.”

  
“You already do.”

“I don’t, and you are fully aware of that.” Ecco wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “You have told me absolutely nothing about yourself in this entire time I’ve been here. _Nothing.”_

“I don’t owe that to you.” he said tersely. “And it doesn’t affect your ability to work for me.”

“I didn’t say you owe it to me.” She tried not to look offended at his brusque words. “I just want to know.”

“You _don’t.”_ he insisted. Although he tried to hide it, she caught the look in his eyes…lost and scared, like a frightened child, and she paused. “You don’t know what you’re asking me.”

“What are you so afraid of?” she asked bluntly. “You know I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Then why won’t you tell me?”

“Because…” He closed his eyes tightly, trying to ward off the memories that were forcing their way into his thoughts, overpowering everything else in his mind. “Because I…”

“What’s the matter, lil bro, you don’t like to think about me?” Jerome’s voice was much too loud in his head. “All the things I’ve done for you? How I showed you the _truth?”_

“Jeremiah?” Ecco sounded far away, and he opened his eyes, trying to focus on her, trying to push Jerome aside. “Are you okay?” She reached out a hand toward him, but he flinched back, looking at her warily.

_She wants to keep you away from Bruce, and now she’s asking you about things you don’t want anyone else to know…_

_Is she really your friend anymore? Friends don’t ask things like that, do they?_

_What does she really want?_

He kept his eyes fixed on her as he backed away toward the door. A shadow of doubt infiltrated his thoughts, trying to construct some sort of explanation as to why she was asking these things. There had to be some sort of deeper meaning, some plan she was creating…why else would she be trying to make him bring up memories he’d much rather forget? 

Why did she _want_ him to go through this again?

“Hey.” She still sounded distant, like he was listening to her on a faulty phone line. “Jeremiah, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

Her eyes looked different than usual…they were the same dark brown he knew, but there was something new, something much more familiar now. He  _knew_ those eyes. Had known them for eighteen years.

_Why haven’t you seen that before?_

“Look, we don’t have to talk about this if it really bothers you that much, I just wanted…”

_It’s not her, your mind’s playing a trick on you. It’s making you think it’s Ecco, but you know it’s really not, you know who it is, and you have to destroy this illusion before it’s too late. You have to let him know you aren’t going to fall prey to his games._

_It’s been_ him _this whole time…it’s always been him, and all this, all these years, it was just your head, making you think everything was over._

_It was never over._

_He’s still here, watching you, waiting to kill you…and now you’re trying to hide, you think it’s someone else, but it can’t be, it can only be him…_

“Jerome.” he whispered, his voice wavering. Ecco frowned, and he stared into her eyes, the eyes he knew weren’t really hers, it was Jerome, and nothing had changed, he was still trapped with his brother, and he was going to kill him.

“Jerome?” she repeated, confused. 

_No, you can’t let him trick you. It’s him, it’s not really Ecco, there isn’t an Ecco, because your mind has made all this up. You’re trying to escape into your own world, but you know the truth._

She stepped closer to him, laying a hand on his arm, and he wrenched it away, his entire frame trembling now as he watched her with wide, terrified eyes. “Jeremiah, what’s wrong?”

“I won’t say it.” he muttered, his expression glazing over. “I won’t, you can’t make me. You can shoot me again, but I won’t say it.”

“Again? Jeremiah, what are you talking about?”

_Stop. Stop pretending to be her. Not when I know it’s really you. It’s been you all along. None of this is real._

“Kudos to me, eh?” Jerome said from behind him, and Jeremiah turned to face him, something like relief rushing through him when he saw his brother, his real brother, not the one hiding behind the mask of an assistant and _friend._ “I’m more clever than _I_ could have ever imagined.”

“But…but you…” He turned back to Ecco, who was standing very still, looking both nervous and confused. “She’s…you’re not…you were...”

“Oh, I’m everywhere.” Jerome came to stand beside him, wrapping an arm around his twin’s shaking shoulders. “You see me because you _want_ to, because you can’t live without me, because I’m a part of you, and without me, you’re nothing and you know it. I can be _anyone,_ Miah, because that’s what you need me to be.”

He stared hard at Ecco, realizing her eyes _weren’t_ Jerome’s, they were her own, and he wasn’t in a long-forgotten room in a penthouse he’d banished from his memory, he was in the bunker, his home, and that time was behind him, three years in the past, and over for good.

_But why do you keep coming back?_

“You make me come back.” Jerome whispered, his lips brushing against the side of his twin’s face as he turned towards him. Jeremiah shuddered. “You can’t afford to give me up.”

“I don’t want you here.” Tears burned his eyes. “You can’t turn me against my friends.”

“I can’t, can I? _You_ didn’t to seem to have any problem doing it yourself.” Jerome’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “You didn’t let anyone care about _me_ , so why should I let you have anything better?”

“That’s not it…” Before he could say anything else, Ecco spoke up.

“Jeremiah, what’s going on?” He blinked, turning back to her, trying to catch a glimpse of Jerome in her expression, not because he wanted his brother to be there, but because it would prove he wasn’t seeing him in places he wasn’t.

“I…I d-don’t…” He broke off, burying his face in his hands, and he felt the weight of Jerome’s arm over his shoulder disappear. His brother was gone for now…after he’d gotten what he’d wanted.

“I’m sorry.” Ecco’s voice was soft, and he heard her footsteps approaching, but he didn’t run away. He knew it was her now, just her, and Jerome hadn’t really been there in the first place.

_Why can’t you understand that?_

“I only thought…” She shook her head, reprimanding herself. “It was stupid of me. I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that.”

He opened his eyes, his gaze empty and confused, almost as he was looking past her at something else. He didn’t say anything to her apology, only pushed past her and disappeared through the door, out into the hall. Ecco hurried after him, regret rushing through her.

“Jeremiah! Wait, don’t go. Please.” She pushed her way in front of him, latching onto his wrist. He didn’t look at her. “I’m sorry, okay? I won’t ask again unless you want to tell me, but I’ll always be here in case you—"

“You've heard of Theo Galavan.” he said flatly, more of a statement then a question. She nodded, confusion crossing her face.

“Everyone has, he’s the one who…”

He cut her off. “I know who he is. Three years ago, he wanted Bruce to sell him Wayne Enterprises and thought he would do it if he used one of his friends for ransom.” The words were laden with years of repressed bitterness. Ecco looked at him intently, finally beginning to understand.

“You?”

“Jerome was there. He tried to turn me as insane as him. It didn’t work.” He still avoided her gaze. “Satisfied now?”

“What did he do to you?” she pressed, knowing he was only telling her this because she’d been asking incessantly, but knowing an opportunity when she saw one. Jeremiah’s eye twitched and he stared blankly down the hall in front of him.

“I told you, he tried to drive me insane. Doesn’t matter how, does it?” 

She stopped walking, hoping he would do the same, but he didn’t even seem to notice. “How long did this go on?”

He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “I have no idea. It’s not like I kept a schedule, is it?” Ecco flinched at the ice-cold sarcasm in his tone. 

“I’m not trying to pry—"

He spun around to finally face her. “Yes, you are. Just ask what you want to know, don’t try to give me an excuse.” He didn’t sound angry, but there was something guarded and dangerous in his eyes that signaled she had broken down too many barriers. Ecco bit her lip.

“What happened, then?”

“Bruce saved me.” He kept walking down the hall. “And I think it’s only fair I try to save him, too.”

“Don’t you see that this is different, though? You saw what happened back at Wayne Enterprises. He doesn’t seem like himself…and he might not want you to help him.”

Jeremiah glared at her. “I don’t have to listen to anything you say.”

“I’m just trying to help _you_.”

“But you aren’t.” he said tonelessly, then cringed at the sound of his own voice. For the briefest of moments, he’d thought he’d heard the voice in his head speak those same words. But it had been him this time.

_You have to be careful, or it’ll start taking over._

“You’re really going to go see him?” Ecco asked, realizing no amount of persuading would change his mind. Jeremiah nodded, not trusting himself to speak in case it was in that voice he’d come to fear and hate equally. “Okay, let me go with you, at least.”

“It’s only a few minutes away. I’ll walk.”

“But…”

“I don’t need you, Ecco.” he said quietly, finally meeting her eyes. There was still a darkness that lurked there, but it didn’t unnerve her as much as it had before. The unspoken meaning to what he’d said hung between them.

_I only need Bruce._

“And isn’t that how it always is.” she muttered to herself, turning away. Jeremiah didn’t bother to ask what she had said, going the opposite direction to the stairway leading out of the bunker.

 

\+ + + + + +

 

“Jeremiah, I don’t know if you should.” Alfred’s face was lined with concern, and he drummed his fingers restlessly on the handle of the manor’s front door. Jeremiah felt guilty for being so persistent, but he couldn’t help it. After an entire month of not even knowing if Bruce was alive, then being dragged away before he could say more than a word to him when he finally _did_ see him, he couldn’t just wait around any longer. 

“He’s…changed, somehow.” the butler went on cautiously, looking over his shoulder before speaking. “I don’t want you to get dragged into…well, whatever this is. For your own good.”

Before Jeremiah could try to persuade him further, there was a voice from behind Alfred. “Let him in.”

The butler stepped aside to glance back, and Jeremiah had to catch himself from running to his friend, who stood in the foyer with his hands in his pockets, looking just like the old Bruce he knew so well.Any half-formed worries that had emerged when Alfred spoke were forgotten. 

_I knew we could go back to normal._

“Hi, Jeremiah.” Bruce smiled at him, and he smiled back, his eyes lighting up for the first time in a month. 

“Bruce.”

His friend motioned for him to come closer. Jeremiah didn’t even bother to look at Alfred, who was watching both of them suspiciously, uncertainty creasing his forehead. “Master Bruce, you…”

“It’s all right, Alfred.” He turned his smile on the man, and the butler didn’t miss the flash of darkness in his eyes. “I’ve been wanting to see Jeremiah.”

Smiling shyly at that declaration, Jeremiah never took his eyes off him, as if he was reassuring himself that Bruce was really there, that this wasn’t a dream. Bruce held out a hand to him, and he took it, clinging to his friend as all the worry and apprehension of the past month disappeared.

“I actually have a question for you.” Bruce said conversationally as he led the way into the study. Jeremiah followed him without hesitation, like a loyal puppy, and Alfred watched them leave, not sure if he fully believed the young billionaire had really gone back to normal. After what he had seen the night before in the Wayne Enterprises building, he wasn’t sure of anything. It hadn’t been difficult to release Bruce from police custody after the confrontation at Wayne Enterprises, since the entire GCPD was absorbed with combatting the victims of the virus bomb, but now he began to wonder if maybe he should have let them handle this…he had never seen Bruce like this, and wasn’t sure how to fix it.

And now that Jeremiah was here…Alfred knew the redhead would follow Bruce into anything, and the thought was more than a little disturbing. If Bruce hadn’t changed, if this was a facade he’d assumed to draw his friend into whatever was going on, then they could both be in danger.

He just didn’t know from what.

In the study, Jeremiah watched as Bruce sat behind the desk, leaning forward on his elbows in the familiar gesture he assumed whenever he had something important to say. There was a moment of silence between them, during which he asked tentatively, “Bruce, what happened?”

“What happened?” Bruce echoed as if he hadn’t heard. He began to search through the desk drawers, turning his gaze away from Jeremiah.

“Yesterday…at Wayne Enterprises…”

“Oh.” He looked up, unfolding a map he’d found. Jeremiah saw it was a rendering of Gotham City. “Well, it’s a little complicated.”

“Do…do you…”

“Look, I’ll tell you some other time, all right? But I’m busy right now.”

Jeremiah’s face fell. “Okay.” He wanted to know more, but it was clear Bruce didn’t want to say anything about it. _But he’s back, and that’s all that matters. And anyway, he’s not acting like he was last night. That’s got to mean everything’s all right now._

“Sheesh, you’ve got to be the most gullible person on the planet.” he heard Jerome say, his voice harsh and warning. Resisting the instinctive urge to look for his twin, Jeremiah shook his head.

_Don’t. Don’t do that. Don’t mess this up._

“I’m just saying. You’d walk through fire to make him happy. He controls your life, even if he doesn’t know it. Dontcha think that might be a bit much?”

_You’re the only one controlling my life._ Jeremiah wished he could take that back as soon as the thought crossed his mind, not wanting to admit such a thing to Jerome, but in the moment, it didn’t bother him as much as it usually would. He was too focused on the familiar face in front of him.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” He caught a glimpse of Jerome out of the corner of his eye, then he was gone and Bruce was saying something to him.

“During the process of Wayne Plaza being designed and built,” he smoothed out the creases in the map that was spread out in front of him on the desk, “I’m sure part of the process was deciding where the building would be put, right?”

  
Jeremiah nodded, wondering what was going on. It stung a bit that Bruce hadn’t really seemed to care that he was here…it was almost as if he just wanted him to answer whatever question he had. 

_Disposable. That’s what you are._

_No, that can't be right, that's not what Bruce is like. He wouldn’t do that to you._

“And I’m guessing you were able to learn a lot about the city’s layout when you were working on that project.” Bruce continued, glancing up at Jeremiah. “Where certain places are located and such.”

“What is it you want, Bruce?” he asked, not liking the way his friend only seemed to look at him to make sure he was still standing there. _Ecco was right,_ he admitted reluctantly to himself. _Something has changed._

But it couldn’t be too late to fix it, whatever it was. And Bruce had asked him to come in, wanted to ask _him_ a question…things couldn’t be that bad.

They couldn’t be.

“I need to find a building.” his friend said, and Jeremiah didn’t miss the way he glanced at the door as if he was worried someone was listening in. “I was thinking you might know where it is.”

He reached up to adjust his glasses, then stopped. He knew it was a nervous habit of his, and he had no reason to be nervous. This was only Bruce, after all. And even if his friend was acting…strange…he was still Bruce. 

He had to believe that.

Still, he couldn’t resist asking, “You…that wasn’t the only reason you let me see you, is it?” 

Bruce’s face was expressionless, the smile he’d worn before dropped like a mask. “Did you want it to be something more?” Jeremiah flinched at the cold words and looked away, hurt. When he said nothing, Bruce shrugged. “I have to figure out where this building is located. It’s important.”

“Bruce…”

“Are you going to help me, or not?” Bruce interrupted, and Jeremiah searched his eyes for the familiar warmth he always saw there, but it was gone. It wasn’t even as if he was looking into Bruce’s eyes…they seemed as foreign as a stranger’s. His throat felt suddenly dry.

“I thought you let me in because we’re friends.” he said softly, hoping maybe this was all an act, that the real Bruce, the Bruce he knew, would come back. Maybe it was some joke being played on him…but Bruce wouldn’t do something like that.

“More up _my_ alley.” Jerome commented in his ear. 

“Oh.” Bruce said, surprised, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “No, I wanted you to help me figure this out.” He turned back to the map in front of him.

Trying to ignore the way his heart twisted in his chest, Jeremiah stepped closer. “Figure what out?” he asked with resignation. If he had to play along with this charade until he could figure out what was happening, then he would. _I’ll find out, Bruce. I will, and I’ll help you. You can’t stay like this forever._

Bruce glanced at him irately. “Figure out where the building is, of course.”

“I know, but what building?” He stepped around the desk to stand by his friend, looking over at him tentatively. Bruce didn’t pay attention.

“First of all, you can’t tell anyone about this, okay? Not even Alfred.”

Jeremiah frowned at that. “But why—"

“I don’t have time for you to ask questions.” Bruce snapped, and Jeremiah shrank away, startled at his abrupt tone. “I just need you to do it. Can you?”

He nodded slowly. “I can, but…”

“Then do it. I’ll need you to come with me to show me where it is, if you’re capable of finding it.” There was an edge of derision to his voice, as if he didn't really believe Jeremiah could do what he was asking. That made the latter all the more determined to find the answers he needed…no matter what was happening with Bruce, he couldn’t let his friend down.

“Okay. So what’s the place? Does it have a name?”

“It’s called the Yuyan building.” Bruce said immediately, and it was clear he’d been thinking about this a lot in the past twenty-four hours. "Somewhere in downtown, I’m guessing. Ever heard of it?”

Jeremiah placed one hand on the map, close to Bruce’s, and his friend moved away. Trying to not look so crestfallen, he stepped back. “I could go look at the maps I still have from the Wayne Plaza project. I made a list of all the buildings in the area, and it might be on there.” He _had_ heard the name before, and with some thought could probably figure out the area it was in…there had been a lot of work put into the location of Wayne Plaza, and Jeremiah remembered many of the conversations with Thomas very clearly, but he wanted more time to think about what was going on with Bruce. This entire thing could be a trap, for all he knew. And he could be leading his friend straight into it. 

“So you don’t know where it is.” It sounded like an accusation.

“I’m just saying I don’t want to make a mistake and lead you to the wrong place. Why do you need to know where it is?” Hopefully Bruce would say something that would help him begin to understand what was happening. But there was no such luck…his friend sighed disappointedly and stood up, turning away.

“If you don’t know where it is, then don’t bother. I don’t have the time.” Jeremiah’s eyes went wide at that and he shook his head.

“Bruce, wait, I…I might be able to…” he began, and broke off in relief as his friend looked back at him.

“Might be able to what?”

“…find it.” he finished reluctantly. Turning back to the map, he traced a finger along a winding trail of streets that spiderwebbed across the city past Wayne Enterprises. “From what I remember, it’s somewhere around here.”

“So you know about this place.”

“I don’t know what it is,” Jeremiah glanced nervously at Bruce, “but I remember the name. It’s near the Narrows, though. And with the virus, it could…it could be dangerous to go there.”

“I don’t care.” Bruce strode across the room and rolled up the map, looking at Jeremiah intently. “You’re sure you know where it is?”

“I know the area.” Part of him wished he’d lied…maybe told Bruce it was somewhere on the other side of town, and while they were looking for it, he could have convinced his friend to stop…whatever he was doing. But he couldn’t back out of his claim now, and Bruce would probably have seen through a lie in the first place. “But how are you going to get there without telling anyone?”

“We’ll walk.” Bruce said decidedly. “Remember, you’re coming with me.”

He gulped, casting a guilty look at the telephone sitting on the desk. “Can I…can I at least call Ecco and let her know that I won’t be back for a while? She’ll be worried.”

“I don’t have time.” Bruce said over his shoulder, already walking out of the study. Jeremiah hesitated, remembering the harsh words he’d left Ecco with and wishing he hadn’t been so abrupt, but he had to go with Bruce. His friend wanted him to go with him, even if he wasn’t himself.

That was the most important thing of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts! Comments are life :)


	13. A Darkness In Both Of Us

**Chapter Thirteen**

 

"Bruce, why won’t you tell me where we’re going?” Jeremiah followed close on his friend’s heels as they made their way through the darkened city streets, staying out of the path of the people infected by the virus, who were still running rampant wherever they looked. He tried to ignore the screams and sounds of violence that seemed to come from everywhere all at once, telling himself that no matter what, he had to stay by his friend’s side…it was the only way to make sure he would be all right.

That they both would be.

Because he couldn’t afford to lose Bruce again.

“You know where we’re going.” Bruce replied, not bothering to look back as he turned another corner down the alley, eyes fixed on the map he held. “You’re the one who told me where it was.”

“Well, yes.” He tried to keep up with his friend, determined not to lose him even in the crowds they skirted as they found themselves deeper in the inner city. “But I meant why is it important to you? Why are you in such a hurry to go there?”

“I don’t know yet.” Jeremiah wished Bruce would at least meet his eyes when he spoke…the Bruce _he’d_ known would do that, if nothing else. “I would have known more if Alfred hadn’t killed that man.”

“At Wayne Enterprises?” he asked, ducking as some unidentifiable projectile sailed over his head and a swarm of virus-affected Gothamites staggered past, fortunately paying neither of them any attention. “But he…wasn’t he the one who set off the bomb that caused all this?” He gestured vaguely around at the destruction surrounding them. 

“Gotham was destined to fall anyway.” Bruce said calmly, and Jeremiah shivered at his tone. _Somewhere, deep down, the real Bruce has to still be there. It can’t be like this forever…it won’t be. You’ve got to fix this._ “And if this is the way it has to be done, then I’m fine with that.”

“You’re saying…” he quickened his pace to match strides with the other boy, “you’re saying you _wanted_ this to happen? Bruce, you can’t mean that.”

“Can I not?” His words were steely. “Look around you, Jeremiah. This city was on the verge of self-destruction. We simply gave it the extra push it needed. Sometimes that’s all it takes to go over the edge.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” Jerome sauntered alongside Jeremiah, intentionally stepping in every mud puddle they came across. The sky above was grey, with heavy clouds hanging low, and from the chill in the air, it was sure to rain soon. “That’s my kinda talk comin’ from Brucie boy. Maybe you’ll believe it now since _he’s_ the one saying it, huh?”

“It’s not him.” Jeremiah muttered, intent on defending his friend. _And at least he’s real. Not just some fake copy of someone who’s really locked away in prison and will never get out._

“You’re not still talking to me, are you?” Bruce asked over his shoulder, and Jerome shot a sidelong glance at his brother.

“Ooh, harsh. You sure he really wants you here?”

“I didn’t say anything.” Jeremiah replied, ignoring Jerome. _Nothing to you, at least,_ he added silently. 

“Brucie does have a point, though.” Jerome continued, unfazed at being interrupted. “I mean, c’mon, look at this city. Just a bit of encouragement, and these people will show who they really are. Just liked I showed them. But I don’t think the good old GCPD will be able to stop this so easily, I’ll admit.” He scuffed his foot through another puddle, pausing to admire his reflection in the water. “Y’know, it’s like I heard someone say once. All it takes is one—"

“Just shut up.” Jeremiah cut him off, tired of listening to the endless rambles of his brother who wasn’t even really there. 

“This place can’t be much further away.” Bruce was saying ahead of him, and although Jeremiah knew he was probably only thinking out loud, he looked up, listening attentively. “If the map is still right.”

More than ever now, he wished he’d lied to Bruce about where the building was. He had no idea what was waiting for them there, but it couldn’t be anything good. Not after what he’d seen with the old man at Wayne Enterprises who’d set off the bombs…if he had anything to do with this, then they could be walking straight into more trouble than before. Gathering up his courage, Jeremiah lightly touched Bruce’s arm to get his attention. His friend gave him a quick, dismissive look.

“What?”

“I…I was just…I mean, do you think it’ll be safe, going to this place? If you don’t even know what’ll be there, and…and I don’t…”

“If you’re scared, then you can go.” Bruce said indifferently. “I can find it on my own.”

“I’m not scared.” He was, but not for the reasons Bruce thought. _I’m scared for you. That you might not ever go back to how you used to be._ “I just don’t know if it’s the best idea to go looking around a place you don’t know much about.”

“I don’t really need advice. You can either leave, and go back home, or you can come with me. It doesn’t matter.”

_But it does! It does matter. I need to protect you…I can’t let you go. I won’t let you go, ever again._ “Can you at least tell me why we’re going there?” He hoped he didn’t sound too desperate.

“I need to find something called the Demon’s Head.” Bruce said, exasperated. “And it’s supposed to be at this place. I don’t know anything else aside from that.”

Beside him, Jeremiah heard his twin whistle through his teeth. “Demon’s Head, huh? Sounds spooky and exciting. Doesn’t it, Miah?”

“Not really.” he mumbled under his breath, shoving his hands into his pockets and glaring at Jerome.

“There it is.” Bruce suddenly stopped, and Jeremiah almost ran straight into him, having been so deep in his own thoughts. He looked over his friend’s shoulder at a decrepit old building nestled between two abandoned apartment complexes. Wayne Enterprises loomed on the horizon a few blocks away, the shadow cast from the building in the dim light of the evening falling across the street. Bruce smiled, but it wasn’t the usual smile Jeremiah was used to. There was something dark and dangerous lurking behind it.

For a moment, it almost reminded him of Jerome.

He silently followed Bruce across the empty street, the wind much colder than it had been before. When the door of the building swung open with a loud creak, revealing nothing but darkness beyond, Jeremiah was hard-pressed to not turn and run. Every instinct he possessed told him this was a bad idea, but if he couldn’t convince Bruce to leave, then he had to go with him.

His friend wouldn’t have abandoned _him._

“Well. This is it.” Bruce breathed, a sort of excitement hiding behind his matter-of-fact tone. Without hesitation, he stepped inside, floorboards crackling beneath his feet. Jeremiah pushed the door open wider, hoping maybe that would at least let in a bit more light, and stayed close behind, unable to repress a shudder. Beside him, he felt Jerome appear again.

“Dontcha worry, Miah, I’ll keep you safe.” he whispered, and Jeremiah scowled. 

_What goodwill suddenly possessed you to say that?_

“Not goodwill as much as self-interest.” Jerome was quick to reply, and his twin glanced nervously as Bruce, wondering if he was hearing any of this. Evidently not, as the billionaire didn’t even turn around as they ventured deeper into the empty, dark building. “I gotta make sure you stay alive and kickin’ for awhile longer.”

_What for?_

“None of your business.” He saw Jerome grinning mischievously out of the corner of his eye, but before he could think to say anything else, they entered a back room of the building and were met with a circular hole in the ground with an eerie green light glowing up from it. Jeremiah scrunched up his nose.

“What sort of B-grade movie stunt…” he began, but Bruce shot him a look that silenced him immediately. Their footsteps echoed in the quiet room, and Jeremiah stood by the door as his friend began searching around.

“Bruce.” he whispered after a full minute of silence. 

“What?”

“You’re looking for…what, exactly?”

“The Demon’s Head.” Bruce said between his teeth, clearly annoyed. “I already told you that.”

“Yes, but what _is_ it? If you don’t know what it is, then how do you expect to find it?”

“Or him.” came a voice from the shadows, and he jumped in surprise. Jerome was still standing beside him, and Jeremiah instinctively reached out to him, his hands grasping at thin air as he tried to hold onto his brother’s arm. He pulled back half a second later, shuddering, and realized there was a man standing in the doorway opposite to the one they had entered through. He was looking intently at Bruce, who stared back. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I am the Demon’s Head.” the man said, advancing toward the boy slowly. Jeremiah bit down on his lip, wondering what he should do. He hadn’t expected _this…_ he’d thought maybe the Demon’s Head would be some old artifact or something that they could take back to the manor and Bruce could deconstruct while Jeremiah tried to figure out what was wrong with his friend.

This was a very different turn of events.

“Unexpected.” Jerome folded his arms and stared interestedly at the two figures on the other side of the glowing pool. “Whaddya think’s gonna happen now?”

“That’s none of your business.” Jeremiah hissed at his twin, who raised his eyebrows in a mock hurt expression. 

“You’ve gotta learn to be nicer to people if ya wanna ever get anywhere in life. No one’ll listen to you if you act like that.”

“Jerome, _please_ shut up.”

“Make me.” Jeremiah rolled his eyes and his twin shrugged. “I mean it. You can, if you really want me gone. Just stop thinkin’ about me, and poof, away I go.” His grin widened. “But you want me here.”

“That’s not true.” He kept his eyes fixed on Bruce and the stranger, but he didn’t miss the way Jerome sidled up beside him, closing in.

“Every time you say it, you mean it a little less than you did the last time. Face it, Jeremiah, you're nothing without me.”

"This is _not_ the time for this discussion." he muttered. “I have more important things to think about.”

“—one thing I haven’t found.” The man’s voice broke through his imagined discussion, and Jeremiah’s attention snapped back to the situation playing out in front of him. “An heir. But I need to know that you're ready.”

Bruce’s voice was almost monotone, and it took everything he had for Jeremiah to not rush across the room and tell the man to go away and let them leave this place before it was too late. “I am.” 

Jeremiah wasn’t in the habit of going out of his way to speak to anyone unless he knew them very well, but he knew he couldn’t simply stand aside and watch as this stranger lured Bruce away from him. “Leave him alone.” he said quietly, meeting the man’s eyes as he turned to look at him curiously.

“Brought someone along with you, I see.” His gaze was fixed on Jeremiah, but he was speaking to Bruce. “A friend?”

_His best_ _friend._ Jeremiah silently corrected him. He heard Jerome chuckle.

“I needed him to help me find this place.” Bruce said dismissively. “He’s an engineer, and he knows the layout of the city better than I do.”

“I see.” The man’s expression was almost dangerously intense, and Jeremiah found it hard to maintain eye contact. He felt like something small and insignificant being stared down by some sort of venomous snake.

“He’s not important.” Bruce continued, and Jeremiah looked at him with wide eyes, not bothering to hide the pain in his expression. 

_You don’t mean that. You can’t mean it. You’re my friend, you’ve always been my friend, and if I don’t have you, then I’m nothing. We need each other, Bruce, you can’t say…_

“Well, _that’s_ ungrateful.” the voice in his head said quietly. Every word was measured and even, but there was a seething anger beneath them, a deep sense of betrayal. 

For a moment, Jeremiah felt the same way. 

_No, you can’t. You can’t feel like that. That voice isn’t you. It’s not the real you. Just like this isn’t the real Bruce. He didn’t mean it._

“What do you want from me?” His friend…he _was_ still his friend, no matter what he said…was still speaking, and Jeremiah tried to listen, but his head was spinning and he regretted coming here in the first place, he wished he’d told Alfred or Ecco or _someone_ what was going on, rather than having to face this…even if it meant breaking Bruce’s trust. 

“That’s a shame.” Jerome patted him on the shoulder, but Jeremiah didn’t pay any attention. “Very sad for you.”

_It’s not Bruce, it’s not him saying those things. He isn’t the real Bruce right now, so it shouldn’t matter what he says. You don’t need to believe him, because it’s not who he really is. It’s not who he was before._

_But maybe he does really mean it. And this version of him is saying the things he means without bothering to hide the truth. Because he doesn’t care anymore._

_Maybe that’s what he’s thought all along._

_Maybe it’s all been a lie._

“Aw, bro, don’t let it get ya down.” Jerome said in a tone he probably thought was comforting. “People come an’ go. It’s just life. _You_ did the same to me.”

“But I’ve never done anything to him.” Jeremiah whispered, still staring helplessly at the silhouettes of his friend and the man on the other side of the strange pool. “You tried to kill me, that’s why I left. But I…I didn’t…”

“Guess you’re just unlucky then.” Jerome was unsympathetic. “Good thing you still have me.”

“I’m going to give you another chance,” the stranger said to Bruce, and Jeremiah turned his attention back to them, “to complete your journey.”

There was a rustling and the sound of footsteps behind him, and Jeremiah quickly backed away from the door where he was standing, hiding further in the shadows. 

_What now?_

He drew in a sharp breath, surprised, when the familiar figure of Alfred appeared amid a group of five other men, all dressed in black with cloth masks hiding most of their features. The butler didn't notice Jeremiah, but he saw Bruce immediately, standing beside the man who called himself the Demon’s Head.

“The whole gang’s here.” Jerome remarked from beside him. “Just like old days, huh? Except this time you’ve got me.”

“Stop talking.”

“Whatdja think they’re going to do?” His brother bounced up and down excitedly. “The suspense is killing me.”

“I wish it would.” Jeremiah muttered. 

“Kill him.” The man’s words cut through the air like a knife, and Jeremiah froze, staring at Bruce, who was looking at his butler with no mercy in his eyes. 

_No. No, Bruce, you can’t, you can’t do this. You’ll never come back this way, if you kill him, and that can’t happen. You have to come back…I need you to come back._

_Bruce, I need you to be yourself again._

“Put your past behind you.” The man was still speaking, and Jeremiah wanted to throttle him, even kill him, if it would make him stop. If it would make the real Bruce come back. 

“That’s the spirit.” Jerome giggled. “There’s the real Jeremiah you’re hiding inside. Why _don’t_ ya kill him?”

_Because, idiot, he’s got all these men to defend him, and he’d holding a knife, and I’m not like you so I don’t go rushing into situations I can’t get out of._ That’s _why._

“—and embrace your future.”

_Bruce, please, please don’t listen to him. You can’t leave everything behind. It won’t work that way. You can’t abandon us all._

_You have to come back._

Bruce was holding a curved knife now, one the man had been holding before, and the look in his eyes hadn't changed. If anything, it was only more intent on his so-called purpose than before. And just as remorseless. 

_Don’t do this._

_Don’t end everything we’ve ever had._

His friend’s grip on the weapon tightened as the blade flashed down, and Jeremiah didn’t wait to see what happened next. He turned and ran, pushing blindly past the huddle of masked figures standing around the doorway, out of the room and through the front door into the cold evening outside. He glanced over his shoulder and saw two of the unidentifiable men following him, heard the sound of their own knives being unsheathed from their belts. 

_Don’t look back, just run._

He turned down a side street, his heart pounding in his chest, a horrible sense of deja vu sweeping over him. 

Back to a night three years ago, trying to run away, to escape.

He remembered looking back, back at Jerome who was running after him, holding a gun.

It was happening all over again.

_You don’t have time to think about that._

The alley was dark and abandoned, snaking alongside the back of an old movie theater. Maybe on an ordinary night, the lights might be on inside and people might be lining up to go onside, but with the virus spreading through the city after the bomb was unleashed and Gothamites fighting for their lives, it was abandoned and dark. Jeremiah had caught a glimpse of the sign in front of it: _Monarch Theatre,_ it had read, but he didn’t pay much attention to details like that. The sound of echoing footsteps behind him were much too close for comfort, and he resisted the urge to turn and see if the men were gaining on him…any sort of slip-up now would guarantee his death. He had no idea who these people were, but he had gathered they weren’t the type anyone would want to cross. 

And after what he had seen back at that place, all he wanted to do was get as far away from everything as he could.

As if that would help him forget what he had seen, the way Bruce had spoken to that man, the thing’s he’d said.

_He said you weren’t important._

_You’re nothing to him._

He jumped as the fire escape above him rattled, and he threw a quick glance at it, noticing a black cat with glowing eyes disappearing around the corner of the railing. Although there wasn’t really time to pause and think about his surroundings, there was something about this place that unnerved him. 

_It’s just some random alley. There are a million others like it in this city, and anyway, it’s not like you’ll ever even see it again. Don’t waste your time letting your imagination wander._

He didn’t have time to contemplate the thought further, even if he had wanted to, because the alley turned off into a main road, strewn with unconscious bodies of those attacked by the people infected with the virus (at least, Jeremiah wanted to believe they were unconscious…it was a slightly better prospect than running across a street full of corpses) and debris fluttering across the ground as the wind howled around the sides of the buildings. The sound of his footsteps seemed terribly loud, like a heartbeat gone out of control, but when he looked back, to his surprise, the men were gone. He slowed his pace, out of breath, and surveyed the dark street. After a full minute of waiting nervously for his pursuers to jump out from some shadowy corner, he realized they must have decided he wasn’t important enough to continue tracking down and went back to the old building they’d been at before.

_Back to Bruce._

Jeremiah wasn’t going to give up hope for his friend…he knew if Bruce had done that to _him_ three years ago, then he most likely would have been long dead. But he couldn’t help him now…he’d tried that, and it hadn’t made any difference.

_All you got from_ that _was him saying you weren’t important._

He shivered as a particularly cold wind swept through the street, ruffling his hair. Wrapping his arms around himself, Jeremiah started down the sidewalk, looking around cautiously to make sure he wouldn’t be caught by surprise by anyone affected by the virus. The police were supposedly working on a cure, but that clearly hadn’t happened yet, considering the empty streets and people hiding in the relative safety of their homes. In the back of his mind, he could hear Ecco’s voice.

_I told you it’s dangerous out there._

Jeremiah hoped she wouldn’t be _too_ mad at him when he got back home. But after being so cold to her, then disappearing for an entire night…she did have good reason to not be very happy with him, he conceded to himself. 

The thought reminded him that he needed to figure out how to get back home in the first place, which wasn’t going to be easy. He’d been so focused on Bruce during the whole time they’d been gone from the manor that he hadn’t thought to remember how they’d gotten to the Yuyan building at all…and besides, he was now several blocks away from said building. Although he would never admit such a thing to himself, he begrudgingly realized he had no idea where he was.

“What a night, huh?” Jerome strolled alongside him, bending down to pick up torn pieces of paper and other trash as he spoke. “First ya get rejected by your best friend, then he shows everyone he’s not the golden child he’d supposed to be and straight-up kills his butler…great job on Brucie’s part, that old guy got in the way too much…and now you’re lost in Gotham City all by yourself.”

“Don’t,” Jeremiah gritted between his teeth, refusing to look at his brother, “ _don’t_ talk about Bruce like that. It’s not too late to fix things.”

“You always say that. But is it really true?” Jerome stepped in front of him, forcing Jeremiah to meet his eyes for an instant. “You’ve been sayin’ you’ll get me outta your head for three years, but I’m still here. It took ya _forever_ to finally own up to killin’ me, and that was only after _I_ told Bruce first. Things don’t always get better, Miah. I should know.” He was smiling, like always, but there was an intensity behind his stare that made Jeremiah almost believe him. “Just admit to yourself that sometimes ya can’t win.”  
“And what do you suggest I do in that instance?” Jeremiah snapped. 

“Well, that’s up to you, ain’t it? I’m not trying to tell you what to do.”

“Oh, sure.” His tone was laden with irony.

“I mean it.” Jerome knocked his shoulder against his twin’s as they continued down the silent street. The wind was getting colder, and there was a faint rumble of thunder in the distance. Jeremiah hoped dismally he’d somehow be able to get his bearings in the city and find a way to get home. “I’m just opening your eyes to the possibilities.”

“This may come as a shock to you, but I don’t actually want your advice.” Jeremiah pushed the other redhead away before realizing there was no one there and that he probably looked like a lunatic to anyone watching him. He drew up his shoulders and ducked his head, quickening his pace as the thunder grew louder. “If I wanted a therapist, I would’ve gotten one.”

“Huh, that’s funny considering you’re the one talking to a voice in your head.” Jerome retorted, scuffing his shoes on the pavement. Jeremiah narrowed his eyes at him, but couldn’t think of anything to say to that. Jerome took his silence as an opportunity to keep talking. “So, what’s the plan? Just gonna wander around the city in break-up mode until your assistant lady hunts you down and drags you back to your underground maze prison?”

“You make it sound so nice.” Jeremiah muttered.

“Charisma is a dying art.”

“And thanks to you, it’s dying quicker than ever.”

“Sheesh, it’s like you _want_ to argue with me.” Jerome shrugged good-naturedly. “Well, I’ll oblige.”

“Just…” He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated and anxious to get home, “just stop already. Please.” There was a phone booth half-hidden between two darkened shops at the end of the street, and he hurried toward it, searching through his pockets for change. 

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Jerome kept pace with him, not about to cut the conversation short. “You’re the one keeping me here.”

He stepped inside the phone booth and shut the door behind him, leaving Jerome standing outside. He watched as his brother lounged against the glass, then turned away, dialing Ecco’s number. 

_Just get home, then you can figure all this out. There’s got to be a solution…things can’t stay this way forever. You’ll get Bruce back, and maybe that will help Jerome leave for good. And the other voice. Things can be like they were before._

“Not to give unwanted advice,” _That_ voice was back, soft and unthreatening as usual, but with that dark edge he could never ignore, “but maybe it’s not the best idea to try and go back to the past. Do you really want to become that version of yourself again?”

He dropped the phone from his ear, frowning. “What do you mean, that version of myself?”

“I only meant you could be something better. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life afraid of your brother, afraid that Bruce will leave for good, afraid that you’ll never amount to anything worthwhile because you don’t have the guts to do what it takes to be remembered. I know you don’t.” 

“If that’s what you think,” Jeremiah lifted the phone up again, listening to the dial tone and hoping Ecco would pick up soon, “then you don’t know me at all.” But he couldn’t hide the shiver of unease that passed through him. The voice _did_ know. In the span of a few short seconds, it had unearthed his deepest fears and uncertainties, and it knew it was right. He couldn’t hide from it, because it was him, in some strange, terrible way. 

And he couldn’t escape himself.

Ecco’s voice on the other end of the line startled him out of his reverie, and he gripped the phone tightly, trying to forget what had just happened. “Hello?” Her tone was sharp, worried, and Jeremiah felt a stab of guilt.

_She’s never gonna forgive me._

“Hi.” he said quietly, scuffing his foot against the wall of the phone booth and steeling himself for the lecture he knew was coming. There was silence on the other line for a long moment.

“Jeremiah?” she asked softly, and he was surprised at how she didn’t sound mad, not at all…in fact, if he didn’t know better, he would have thought she was relieved.

“Yeah. It’s me.” Before she could say anything, he explained in one breath, “I was going to call you earlier, but I just…I couldn’t, because Bruce said I couldn’t, but I _did_ want to, and everything ended up going wrong, so I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, but I need you to come pick me up if…if you can.” He closed his eyes, listening to her draw a long breath.

“Okay.” He was surprised she wasn’t yelling at him, but maybe she was saving that for a face-to-face confrontation. Still, she didn’t sound angry. Only worried out of her mind. “Where are you?”

“Uh, that’s the thing. I…I don’t really know. It’s in the city, I know that, but I’m not sure where.”

“You’re in the city?” she repeated, and he leaned his head against the glass, staring at the ground.

“Yeah. I know what you said, but Bruce…”

“It’s fine.” It didn’t _sound_ fine, but he wasn’t going to argue with her. “What’s the name of the street you’re on?”

He looked outside. “Fourteenth Street. Ecco, I’m really sorry I didn’t…"

“Don’t.” she cut him off quietly, and he thought he caught a quiver in her voice, but maybe it was just the bad connection on the phone. “It’s okay, I’ll come get you.”

“Thanks.” he said guiltily, feeling worse than ever. 

“No, don’t thank me. It’s my job. And I would’ve done it anyway.” Her tone was practical, but there was something else there, something deeper to her words he couldn’t quite figure out. But this wasn’t the time to contemplate things like that. 

“Okay. I’ll see you soon.” He hung up, opening the door to the phone booth and stepping out into the cold night. Jerome was gone, and he breathed a sigh of relief, but no sooner had he sat down on the curb to wait for Ecco, did the voice in his head speak up again.

“What are you going to do about Bruce?” it asked, and Jeremiah shook his head, resigning himself to the fact that the voice wasn’t planning on going anywhere, and that ignoring it would do no good.

“I don’t know yet. I…I have to make him see that this isn’t who he usually is, that he can stop this, but I don’t know how.”

“Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be.” Jeremiah tensed at that statement, his hands curling into fists. “You say it’s not really Bruce, but maybe it is. Maybe this is the darkness in him coming out for the first time, showing you who he is inside.”

“What darkness?” He hated that he was taking the bair, but he couldn’t help but ask.

“Oh, come on. You have to admit it’s justified. His parents were murdered in front of him. His company was taken over by criminals. He’s watched his own city crumble into a madhouse of anarchy. How could he _not_ have a dark side?”

“You don’t know Bruce.” he said sharply, kicking a stray pebble into the road. “You have no right to think things like that.”

“But you know it’s true.” The voice was unfazed. “You know it is, because that’s what connects you.”

He stood up, pacing along the side of the road restlessly. _You’re wrong, you’re wrong, you’re just trying to goad me into saying something that’ll make you sound right, but what you’re saying, it’s a lie._ “We’re connected because we’re friends. We…understand each other. He never blamed me for everything that happened with…with Galavan, and the Arkham breakout when the police thought I was involved, and he believed me when I told him that I’m not like my brother. No one else has ever done that except Bruce. It’s not because of…whatever you’re saying.”

“It _is!”_ the voice insisted, suddenly much louder, and Jeremiah cringed, shutting his eyes tight. “Think about it. You say he understands you, but _why_ does he? It’s because he knows what it’s like, to live in that shadow, to be controlled by something more than you. You both have a driving force, even if you don’t know what it is yet, and it comes from those things that created that darkness in the first place. It’s the only thing that makes _sense,_ Jeremiah, you just need to admit it!”  
“Stop.” he pleaded, looking desperately around in hopes that some passer-by would appear to take his mind off of this horrible voice. “That’s not true. It’s not.”

“You lie to everyone.” it said, sounding so reasonable it was maddening. “You’ve always lied your entire life, to Jerome, to Bruce, to Selina and Ecco and everyone you’ve ever come across. First it was your identity, and your past, and your brother, then it was the truth of his death, then it was the voices like me, and you know it. You lie all the time…isn’t it only natural that you would lie to yourself too?”

Jeremiah didn’t have a good answer to that question, so he stared silently across the empty road, watching the street lamp on the other side flicker and go out. It had begun to rain, and the wind whistled around him, but he didn’t care. He was too caught up in the war his mind was waging on him to think about things like that…even when Ecco appeared in the distance, the headlights of her motorcycle cutting through the growing darkness of the night, he didn’t move, only kept staring at nothing and trying to think of a way to prove the voice wrong.

But he knew, deep down, such a thing was impossible.


	14. Nightmare

**Chapter Fourteen**

 

They stood facing each other in the darkness, the sound of their heavy breathing reverberating in the silence. No one else was around…they were alone, and Jeremiah wasn’t sure how they’d gotten here in the first place. He didn’t bother to look around…where they were wasn’t important. It didn’t matter.

There was only one thing in the world that mattered. 

There had only ever been one thing.

And right now, he was looking at Jeremiah with more anger and betrayal than the other boy had ever seen before in his life. His face was motionless, composed, but even that couldn’t hide the shadow that had crept into his features, the steely hatred that sparked in the depths of his eyes like a fire that had only just begun to burn. Jeremiah wasn’t sure if he wanted to run away or move closer, but it didn’t matter, because he was frozen to the spot, staring back at his friend as confusion and doubt played across his face in turn.

_What did I do?_

_Please, Bruce, tell me, what did I do?_

But Bruce wouldn’t say anything to him, and Jeremiah couldn’t find his voice to ask the question aloud. He tried to figure out where they were, hoping it would help him understand what was going on, but he didn’t recognize this place. They were standing on a narrow ledge, maybe a rooftop or something of the sort, but instead of streets, the only thing below them was an endless expanse of darkness that had begun to lap at the corners of the ledge as if it was trying to drag them both down into its depths. Jeremiah shivered, remembering what the voice in his head had said to him just the other day.

_It’s the only thing that connects you._

_The darkness inside._

“Why did you do it?” Bruce finally spoke, and Jeremiah’s gaze shot back to him, searching for answers in his friend’s face. But he found none…it was as if Bruce was wearing a mask, hiding whatever he was feeling inside, rendering himself completely unreadable to anyone who tried to decipher what was going on in his mind.

_But we’re friends…he doesn’t have to hide from me…_

“Why did you do it, Jeremiah?” the other asked again, his voice unfamiliar. Jeremiah narrowed his eyes at him. It was still Bruce’s voice, but…somehow not. “What were you trying to prove?” His eyes were furious and sad at the same time, and Jeremiah didn’t know what to think.

_I don’t know what I did…Bruce, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for whatever it was, I would never try to hurt you…I’ve only ever wanted for us to be…_

“To be what?” Bruce growled, and Jeremiah’s eyes widened. 

“How…how did you…” He broke off abruptly, one hand flying to his throat at the sound of his own voice.

_No. No no no, that’s not you. That’s not. You can’t do that…you can’t be…_

It was the voice, and it wasn’t just in his head anymore.

It was _him_ this time.

He looked down at his hands, noticing how badly they were shaking. In the darkness, everything seemed to have lost its color, like he was looking at a black-and-white photo. But when he looked up at Bruce, his friend looked the same as he always did.

Except for that darkness that wouldn’t go away.

_What is happening? What’s going on?_

“What did you mean, Jeremiah?” Bruce asked, stepping closer to him. The ledge, or whatever they were standing on, creaked beneath his feet and swayed, and Jeremiah grabbed at thin air, trying to steady himself. He didn’t want to speak again…he couldn’t, not until he figured out why _that_ voice was here, was _him…_ but Bruce wouldn’t take silence for an answer. 

“What did you want us to be?”

The darkness beneath them was closer now, slowly consuming the ledge inch by inch, and Jeremiah knew if they didn’t get away soon, it would swallow them whole. “I…I only meant…” He shook his head, concentrating on sounding like himself, not like that arrogant, corrupt _thing_ that always insisted on breaking into his thoughts, because no matter what it told him, it _wasn’t_ who he was supposed to be, and it couldn’t trick him into becoming whatever it was. 

“Tell me.” Bruce was suddenly standing right in front of him, his eyes smoldering, and his hands latched onto Jeremiah’s shoulders in a vise-like grip, his gaze boring into his friend’s eyes relentlessly. The darkness kept coming closer, and now it was casting shadows across them both until Jeremiah could barely see Bruce’s face…it was all but obscured in that consuming blackness that surrounded them.

_Bruce, come back, don’t leave me here, I need you…_

“Tell me what you want us to be.” He flinched at his friend’s voice…it was so angry, so bitter, and worst of all, it was unquestionably Bruce…not some imposter taking on the guise of his friend to torment him, but Bruce himself, and that made it all the more unbearable. 

_What you want us to be._

“Please…tell me what I did…” he pleaded, but some part of him already knew. He didn’t know what he had done, but he knew it was enough to tear down everything they’d ever built up between them…whatever bond of friendship they’d had was severed like a frayed rope, and they had been ripped apart, destroyed by whatever had happened.

_No, that can’t happen, that’s not right, we’re not meant to be like this. We have to go back…whatever happened, we can fix it, we can make things better again, but you can’t leave me! You can’t ever leave me, Bruce, you know that. We have to have each other._

“What you did?” Bruce echoed incredulously, and Jeremiah felt the ledge shudder beneath their feet. _We’re going to fall into the darkness and no one can save us._

_We’ll never escape it._

“I’ll tell you what you did.” His voice was cold now. “You proved to everyone what they’ve believed all along.”

Jeremiah frowned, more confused than ever. Nothing made sense…he couldn’t even figure out how they’d gotten here in the first place. But he had to prove to Bruce that he hadn’t done anything wrong…if he had, he would remember it. 

So he turned to the only explanation he knew would be true.

“All I wanted…” His voice was too soft, and he cleared his throat to try again. Bruce kept staring at him. “All I wanted was to be connected. To you.” _Forever._

_Isn’t that how it was supposed to be?_

“Well, you’ve got what you wanted.” Bruce said, matching his quiet tone, but anger still lurked beneath the surface. Now it was steady, controlled anger, no longer a raging flame, but a smoldering ember that wouldn’t ever be extinguished. Jeremiah wished he knew what had caused it.

But then, maybe he was better off not knowing.

Before either one of them could say another word, there was a sound like a gunshot and the ground began to crack beneath their feet, rivulets of the darkness below spiderwebbing over the ledge. Jeremiah’s eyes widened.

“Bruce…” He looked up to catch his friend’s impassive stare, and if he had looked just a moment longer, he would have noticed the sorrow in Bruce’s eyes, and the regret. 

But he didn’t, because once he stepped backward, he slipped on the corner and fell off backward over the ledge, his fingers grasping onto the side a millisecond before he was lost in freefall. His breath stuttering in his throat as he gripped onto the cold metal _(why is it metal if it’s a rooftop…shouldn’t it be concrete or something like that?)_ and he did look up at Bruce then. His friend gazed down at him, standing out of reach. Jeremiah didn’t dare look at the darkness below…his only focus now was getting back up before it dragged him down.

“Bruce…please!” he gasped, reaching one hand up toward the shadowy figure above him, barely able to hold onto the ledge. “Help me.”

His friend shook his head slowly, backing away. Jeremiah’s eyes widened. 

_What are you doing?_

_You can’t leave me here…you’ve always saved me before! You always have…you’ve always been the only one…_

“Not this time.” Bruce said cooly, his tone contradicting the conflict in his eyes. “That was when you were my friend.”

_But I’m still your friend! I’ve always been your friend, and I always will, I would never let anything come between that, Bruce, you know it!_

“I know it better than anyone.” the other boy replied, and the words were harsh, accusing. Jeremiah felt his fingers slipping off the ledge and his eyes grew wider with terror.

“Don’t let me fall…please, Bruce, please, you’ve got to listen to me, whatever’s happened, I’m sorry, but I need you…without you, I’m…”

“I think you may be better off without me.” Bruce interrupted. “Without me, you may never have turned into…this.”

“What…what are you talking about?” He felt the darkness pulling at him now, like a million arms dragging him into oblivion. “Bruce…”

“No. There’s no point.” His friend turned away, disappearing into the shadows. “You’re already gone.”

The ledge suddenly gave way, and he felt himself falling, straight into the darkness below, and before he knew it, it was all around him, so close that he couldn’t even cry out for help…

With a gasp, Jeremiah’s eyes flew open and he bolted upright in bed in a cold sweat, shaking all over. For a long moment, he stared at the wall on the other side of the room, trying to remember where he was. The ticking of the alarm clock on the table beside him brought him back to reality, and he glanced at it, his heartbeat beginning to slow down to its normal speed.

_You’re at home. In the bunker. That wasn’t real…none of it was. Everything’s all right._

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and drew a deep breath. Before he had time to think, there was a faint knock on the door and Ecco stuck her head inside.

“Hey. You okay?”

He nodded, reaching for his glasses on the side table and squinting at her blurred outline in the darkness. “Um. Yeah. I’m okay. Just…” He shook his head. “Just a dream, I guess.”

“Oh.” She hesitated in the doorway, looking at him uncertainly. It had been three days since he’d snapped at her about prying into his past, and ever since she’d been cautious around him. Jeremiah wished he could take it back, but it was too late now, he told himself. And besides, she _shouldn’t_ have asked him about that in the first place. “Well…if you’re sure you’re okay…”

“I’m fine.” He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but it trembled and fell moments later. “Really.”

“Okay.” She looked like she wanted to say something more, but changed her mind at the last second. Casting a final, scrutinizing look at him, she turned and left, shutting the door behind her. Jeremiah flopped back down on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling with wide, sleepless eyes. He knew he wouldn’t get anymore rest tonight after a nightmare like that…it had seemed so horribly real.

_But that’s all it was. A nightmare. You don’t need to make a big deal about it._

He tried to think about something else, and his mind turned to the way he’d been avoiding Bruce’s calls for the past three days. Selina had come by the bunker the day after Ecco had picked Jeremiah up from the inner city streets to say that their friend was all right again, that whatever sort of conditioning he’d been subjected to was gone, and that Alfred was alive, too. Jeremiah hadn’t known what to think…he was endlessly relieved that his friend was back, of course, but that didn’t erase the doubt that had been growing in him, the worry that Bruce didn’t truly care about him. Even if he had been brainwashed or something of the sort, that didn’t mean the things he’d said weren’t at least partly true.

And Jeremiah couldn’t forget the way his friend had dismissed him as unimportant that night at the Yuyan building.

He wanted to believe it was the conditioning, nothing more. After all, Bruce had rejected Alfred too, and sided with the old man who had triggered the bomb of the virus…certainly a declaration like the one he’d made wasn’t true to what he really believed. At least, that was what Jeremiah told himself. But the doubt still lingered, so much so that he couldn’t bring himself to meet with his friend face to face…Bruce had called him several times each day, but he hadn’t gathered up the courage yet to answer any of those calls, not until he could convince himself that his friend hadn’t meant the things he’d said. 

“Don’t be stupid,” the voice in his head said derisively, and Jeremiah winced, remembering the nightmare that had awoken him. 

How the voice hadn’t just been in his head anymore…how it had actually been _him_ that time.

“If you cut Bruce off, then you’ll never get him back.” it continued, and despite himself, Jeremiah listened. “You don’t want him to abandon you, but you’re not really doing yourself any favors, avoiding him like this. All because of your own insecurities that he doesn’t really think you’re as important as you are.”

“Since when did I ask you for help?” Jeremiah mumbled, shifting onto his side and gazing at the blank wall alongside him. “Oh right, I didn’t.”

“I’m only stating the obvious. You’re pushing him away, so what do you think’s going to happen? You’ll lose him, and it’ll be your own fault.”

“It’s not like that.”

“What is it like, then? He doesn’t know why you’re avoiding him, only that you won’t talk to him. How do you think that seems from his perspective?”

Jeremiah sighed. “I just need to think things through.”

“What things? You’re only stalling because you’re scared. You want him back just as much as you ever did, and you know it. So what’s stopping you? Every second you don’t take to do something about this is a waste of time.”

He glared at the wall, furious because the voice was making sense and he hated when that happened. It meant he had to acknowledge it was a part of him coming up with these ideas, otherwise he was being one-upped by something that had taken up residence in his thoughts, and _that_ certainly wasn’t happening. And it meant that he had to get up and call Bruce at this very moment before his courage dwindled and he avoided his friend for the rest of his life. 

Shuffling out into the kitchen in the dark (if he turned on even one light, he was sure Ecco would notice, and he didn’t really want to have to do any more explaining to her in the near future), he dialed Bruce’s number and leaned his elbows on the counter, chewing his lip nervously. 

“You realize I didn’t mean ‘every second’ in a literal sense.” the voice commented. “It _is_ three in the morning, after all.”

Jeremiah’s gaze shot to the digital clock on the opposite wall, his eyes widening in realization and mortification at the same time. He fumbled with the phone, trying to end the call before he woke up his friend, but before he could, Bruce’s voice was on the other end.

“Hello?” He sounded disoriented and worried, and Jeremiah grimaced.

_How do you always manage to make everything worse than it was before?_

“Hi, Bruce.” he said quietly, staring at the ground. His friend’s voice suddenly became much more alert.

“Jeremiah?” 

“Uh, yeah. I…I’m sorry for calling you, I didn’t realize what time it was…”

“Were you working late again?” Bruce asked before he could make any more excuses. He sounded so normal…so like his old self, that Jeremiah almost smiled.

“N-no…I, um, I know it sounds silly, but I had a, um, nightmare, and I woke up, and I wanted to call you since I…kinda haven’t been…answering you. But I didn’t think about it being so late and…”

“A nightmare? What was it about?”

“Uh,” he paused, wondering what he should say. He’d never had any trouble telling Bruce anything…well, aside from the whole killing Jerome and voices-in-his-head things…but the dream had felt so real…and the things that had been said between them…

“It was nothing. I’m sorry for calling you.”

“It’s okay.” Bruce said quickly. “I was worried about you. I kept calling you, but you wouldn’t pick up…I wasn’t sure what was wrong. I mean, I know it was me and everything that happened, but…” He trailed off uncertainly.

_You and your stupid paranoia. Look what you’ve done now._

“No…nothing’s wrong. Not anymore. Obviously. Because you…you’re back.” The words came out rushed. “I just…”

“I know. It’s because of what happened the other night, right?” Bruce helped him out, and Jeremiah nodded silently. 

_He always knows what you’re thinking._

_You really are connected._

“Miah, whatever I did that night, and whatever I said to you, I swear I didn’t mean any of it.” Bruce’s tone was dead serious. “It wasn’t me, wasn’t me saying those things, or even thinking them. I was only saying and thinking the things they wanted me to believe. I know that’s a pretty lame excuse, but it’s the truth.”

“I know.” he said softly, and he _did_ know, with his mind, at least, but somehow in his heart he couldn’t convince himself of the truth. “I believe you, Bruce.”

_Now make yourself believe it._

“Still,” Bruce clearly wasn’t going to let the subject drop, “you can’t imagine how sorry I am. I don’t remember much of what happened, but I’m sorry for getting you involved, and I'm sorry I used our friendship against you.”

Jeremiah _did_ smile this time. _So you’re still friends._

_Well, of course you’re still friends. It’s not like you’re going to suddenly become enemies because of some nightmare you had. That’s over…it was just your imagination, and if you’re worried about that, then you really are crazy. Just get over it._

He couldn’t fully shake the unease that had fallen over him after that nightmare, but at least he’d heard Bruce say it himself. They were still friends.

They always would be.

Bruce was still apologizing, and Jeremiah cut him off. “No, don’t. I know it wasn’t you. And it wasn’t your fault. I didn’t have to get involved, I only did because…” he tapped the edge of the counter with his fingertips, trying to will away the nerves that continued to creep through him from the remaining memories of the dream, “…because I wanted to make sure nothing happened to you.”

His friend was silent for a moment, and Jeremiah could almost hear the unspoken question in the air. _Why have you been avoiding me, then?_ He didn’t answer that…it would be too humiliating to admit the reason had been his own irrational fears that Bruce wouldn’t think he was important enough. _It’s just ridiculous. I mean, he was the one calling you. And you still didn’t have enough faith in yourself to do anything about it._

“Well.” he said finally, stealing a glance at Ecco’s closed bedroom door through the kitchen doorway on the other side of the living room and hoping she wasn’t listening in on this conversation. “I just wanted to call you and say…” Say what? He didn’t have anything in mind, he’d only wanted Bruce to know that he was there, that he’d always be there, no matter what. 

His friend seemed to understand. “Thanks.” he said quietly, and Jeremiah sighed.

“Sorry for waking you up at three in the morning.”

He heard a laugh on the other end. “It’s fine. “

_Maybe things can go back to normal for good now. This is all behind us, and we can forget it ever happened…_

Something came to his mind then. “Bruce?”

“Yeah?”

“What happened with that guy back at the Yuyan building? Who was he?” There was silence from his friend and Jeremiah hoped he wasn’t overstepping. “I mean, if you’re okay with…”

“No, it’s fine.” Bruce hurried to say. “It’s just I’m not sure what’ll happen. I found out his real name, and he kept going on about me being his heir or whatever, and claiming Gotham for my own, but he left before we could stop him, and I don’t know where he’s gone.”

“Oh.”

“I do know one thing though.” he said firmly. “There’s a knife I have to find. He’s looking for it, and I think it’ll be the key to answering all of this. If I can just figure out where he’s gone. But I think he’ll be back. He seemed intent on getting me to join him.”

“But you’ll…you’ll be careful, right?” Jeremiah asked worriedly. 

“Of course.”

“If he’s gone, why don’t you just drop the whole thing? Maybe he’ll stay away if he’s realized you won’t listen to him.”

“I wish that was the case.” Bruce said slowly. “But I don’t think that’s what’s going to happen. This has been long in the making, and when someone is as intent on achieving his goal as this man is, then he won’t give up easily.”

Jeremiah nodded, his mind flashing back to a room in a penthouse three years ago, to a darkened warehouse basement and abandoned alleyway behind city streets. _You know that better than anyone._

“I hope it’ll be over soon.” he said, more to himself than to Bruce. 

“Me, too. But I’m sure it’ll end up all right.” He didn’t sound fully convinced, and Jeremiah knew he was trying to sound more certain than he felt.

_He doesn’t want you to worry._

“Okay.” he said reluctantly, glancing at the clock again. “I shouldn’t keep you up any longer, Bruce. I, um…sorry for not calling sooner.” _Sorry for abandoning you. You wouldn’t have done it to me._

“It’s okay, Jeremiah.” For a moment, he really believed that. _Maybe it will be. You have to at least try and believe that._ “I’ll see you soon.”

He listened to the dial tone after his friend had hung up before putting the phone down with a sigh. Bruce was back for good now, and everything would go back to the way it used to be, so why did he still feel like a shadow was looming over everything? It couldn’t be simply from that nightmare…that was absurd. 

_It wasn’t real._

He paced back and forth in the kitchen, restless and knowing even if he tried to go back to sleep, he wouldn’t succeed. His eyes drifted to the clock, watching the minutes tick by as his mind wandered. 

He wasn’t exactly surprised when the voice in his head spoke in the silence.

“You understand now, don’t you?” it said, an edge of triumph to the calm tone. Jeremiah remembered how he’d sounded the same in his dream, how he had _been_ whatever that voice was, whatever evil creature it was. _But it wasn’t real. You have to remember that._

“Understand what?” He absently ran his hand along the back of a chair, trying to sound like he didn’t know what the voice was talking about.

“Why do you try to trick me? You know I’m inside your head. There is nothing about you that I don’t know.” It sounded irritated, and Jeremiah was almost afraid of it. But he wasn’t…not quite.

Right now, he was more afraid of the notion that the voice could be himself.

_That_ was the most frightening thought of all.

“Okay, fine. I do understand.” he admitted, sitting down on the edge of the chair and staring at the doorway in case Ecco decided to show up. “I know we both have a darkness inside us. But it’s not like you think it is. That’s not the _only_ thing that connects us. And Bruce would never let that darkness corrupt him.”

“But you would?” it asked softly, and Jeremiah’s shoulders stiffened.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” he said forcefully. “I…no, that wouldn’t happen.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“Well, I am.” he snapped, crossing his arms. “If I allowed myself to give in to the darkness, then I would’ve done that long ago. I’ve had plenty of chances for that, and it’s never happened. Explain _that.”_

“You weren’t willing to see what you could do, if only you let it take over.” the voice replied. “But maybe you are now. Partly willing, at least. Or curious. Call it what you will.”

“I have no desire to be anything more than I already am.” 

“But you want to know what it would be like. You did see, didn’t you? You saw how things would be?”

“You mean that nightmare? Please, there’s no meaning behind that. Dreams don’t have a reason.” He wanted to believe it. “Besides, don’t you realize that’s what separates me from Jerome? He’s let the darkness take over him, and now look what’s happened. You know I won’t ever be like that. I can’t.”

“So that’s what this is about. You don’t want to become like your brother.”

“That’s what this has _always_ been about.” he said sharply. “And I thought you would know that, since you apparently know everything about me.”

“But what if you didn’t have to be like Jerome?” the voice asked calmly. “What if you stopped letting him control every decision you make? What if you realized you will never be your brother,” it spoke quietly, but with undeniable force, “but you could be something greater?”

“I’m guessing you mean whatever _you_ are.” he retorted, standing up and pushing the chair aside. “And thanks, but I’ll decline. I’d rather be myself.”

“You can still be that,” it followed him, unwilling to end this argument, “but more. Don’t pretend you haven’t wanted that. I know you’ve always wanted to be remembered. You’ve wanted to be _someone,_ you don’t want to live in obscurity for the rest of your life."  
“What I want,” Jeremiah said decidedly, ignoring how maddeningly _right_ the voice was, “is for you to leave me alone. I can make my own decisions without you.”

“Without me, you would have kept ignoring Bruce.” the voice pointed out. 

“Okay, sure, but I don’t need you anymore.” He heard Ecco stirring in her room and lowered his voice. “And I don’t need you to tell me how I could be _so much more_ and all that nonsense. I don’t need you, and you won’t convince me otherwise.”

“If that’s what you want.” it conceded, but there was a smile lurking behind the words, and Jeremiah knew it didn’t really believe him.

He wasn’t even sure if he believed himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Comments, criticisms, anything else...hope ya liked it!


	15. Gotham's Protector

**Chapter Fifteen**

 

The frigid winter wind sent tiny shards of ice pinwheeling through the air, and Jeremiah ducked his head against it, clutching the coil of wire he’d just bought closer to his chest. He’d persuaded Ecco to drop him off in the city that evening, after he’d been hit with sudden inspiration for a new project he’d started back at the bunker, to buy a few supplies for a prototype. He’d thrown himself wholeheartedly into his work during the past few weeks, not acknowledging even to himself that it was only a distraction from the voices in his head and the events that had occurred between him and Bruce that day two weeks before…even if everything was all right now between them, it was impossible to forget what had happened. And besides all that, Bruce had been consumed with this business of finding whatever knife he was looking for…Jeremiah had asked him once or twice what was so special about this knife and why he was so intent on finding the man from the Yuyan building, but the only explanation he’d gotten from his friend was that he felt responsible for seeing this through to the end.

Whatever “this” was, Jeremiah didn’t know.

And so, promising himself that things would mend themselves soon enough if he just gave Bruce a little more time, he turned back to working on his engineering projects, and once he had come up with the idea for his newest one, he hadn’t thought of much else.

Despite the wind and the faint threat of an ice storm in the near future, he was grateful for the dark…even if Jerome’s escapades around Gotham after being brought back to life had become yesterday’s news, Jeremiah was still afraid he would be mistaken for his brother, and he didn’t ever want a confrontation like that. Besides, the later it was, the fewer people he would have to talk to in the city, and that was inarguably a positive.

It _was_ a little unnerving to be out on the empty streets in the dark, though, and part of him hoped Ecco would show up soon so they could go home. But the other part of him insisted he didn’t need to worry about anything…he was just overthinking again.

_Because you don’t do enough of that already,_ he thought sarcastically. 

The sound of heavy footsteps behind him echoed in the quiet, and Jeremiah almost looked back out of paranoid habit to see if he was being followed. _Oh, come on, why would anyone be bothered to make trouble for you? Not everything has to be a threat, you know._ But he couldn’t help it, and tossed a look over his shoulder at the two men who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Jeremiah, who knew he was on the outskirts of the Narrows, where most of Gotham’s gang members and lowlife lived, hoped they wouldn’t notice him.

_So what if they do? You just always assume everyone’s out to get you. That’s not necessarily true, and all you’re doing is causing more problems for yourself._

The footsteps behind him were much louder now, and Jeremiah saw a large shadow fall over him as one of the men appeared alongside him. He snuck a glance over at the stranger, who was looking at him with a calculating gaze. 

_Ecco, this would be a great time for you to show up._

“Whatcha got there?” the man asked, nodding at the various wires and tools Jeremiah was balancing in his arms.

“Me?” he asked, his voice coming out higher than usual. He cleared his throat. “Uh, you’re talking to me?”

“Yeah, who else would I talk to?” The man produced a toothpick from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth, raising one eyebrow. Jeremiah looked away.

“It’s just some stuff. F-for a thing I’m building.” He wasn’t used to talking to strangers, and he didn’t like the way the man was staring at him. Sizing him up. 

“What sort of thing?” the man asked, his companion joining them on the other side of Jeremiah, who looked back and forth at the both of them with increasing uneasiness. Combined, they were more than three times his size, and looked like they grew up in the boxing ring. 

He suddenly felt very helpless and small.

_The guy asked you a question,_ he reminded himself, and he tried to look more confident than he felt…maybe he could fool himself into thinking he knew what he was doing, too.

“It’s for a project I’m working on. I’m an engineer.” he explained, trying his best to keep his voice steady. They kept watching him, and to break the silence, he added, “It’s a sort of battery. To produce clean energy.”

“An engineer, huh?” the second man grinned, and it wasn’t a pleasant grin, either. Jeremiah stared down the street, hoping desperately that Ecco would appear soon. But she was nowhere to be seen, and there was no one else around. “You work at Wayne Enterprises?”

Jeremiah stared back. “How did you know—"

The man jabbed at his coat lapel that held a pin Bruce had given him when he’d first began to work for his company, the enterprise’s initials monogrammed into the tiny circle of metal. Even though Jeremiah hadn’t ever set foot in the place itself (for work purposes, at least) he appreciated the thought…it was yet another reminder that his best friend cared enough about him to remember even a small gesture like that.

But right now, he was wishing he’d left the pin at home.

In fact, he wished _he’d_ stayed home altogether.

“I work there.” he admitted, wondering what this had to do with anything. “I mean, sort of, but…”

“I used to work for Wayne. Thomas Wayne.” the first man said, keeping pace with Jeremiah. “Made a pretty good profit there too, until he fired me.”

“Oh.” Jeremiah hoped the man wasn’t looking for an argument. “I’m, um, I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“Betcha you make a good amount, amiright?” His eyes narrowed.

The redhead shrugged nervously, shifting the weight of the supplies he was holding. “I…”

“Course he does.” the other chimed in, knocking his shoulder against the boy’s. Jeremiah turned to look at him. “You don’t get a coat like that unless you’re workin’ for a Wayne and makin’ a nice living off it.”

He looked down at the coat he was wearing, one that Ecco had bought him when she’d figured out he’d forgotten to get one for himself when winter drew closer. He had no idea how much it had cost…Ecco kept a budget for him and he never remembered to look at it and see what things added up…but even he knew it was probably more expensive than not.

_Is this how muggings start?_ He tried to remember the premise of any of the crime movies he’d seen…wasn’t this the usual way criminals approached their target? _Dammit, Ecco, where are you?_ “If you want something from me…”

They glanced at each other, then the second man spoke. “Look, kid, if you give us your money and any valuables you’ve got on you, we’ll let you off easy. We don’t want extra trouble, right?”

_Oh, this is definitely how a mugging starts._

Jeremiah was’t going to argue with either of the two built-like-brick-wall thugs on either side of him, and although somewhere in the back of his thoughts a voice whispered, _Bruce wouldn’t give in without a fight,_ he surrendered his wallet over to the man on his left, not meeting his eyes. “Good enough for you?” he asked quietly, wishing he had the nerve to be something more than the coward he was, but equally interested in his own well-being and not wanting to find himself dead in an alley if he didn’t follow their orders.

“The pin, too.” the other man said quickly, and Jeremiah _did_ hesitate at that. 

“It’s not like it’s worth anything to you…” he began, and the man rolled his eyes.

“No excuses, kid, we know how much stuff can be worth here in the Narrows. I know a pawn shop or two that’d give good money for a bona fide Wayne Enterprises pin.”

Jeremiah stopped walking. “But…” He knew it was ridiculous and probably dangerous, trying to negotiate with these strangers, but the pin was a gift from Bruce, and he would just as soon give up the plans to his new project than hand it over. 

_Just do it, Bruce wouldn’t want you to get in trouble over something like that._

But just as soon as the thought occurred to him, another added, _Bruce would also stand his ground against anyone who tried to take him down. That’s what he’s always done. And you’re just going to let them do whatever they want?_

_Bruce wouldn’t want you to do that._

He lifted his chin, unconsciously backing away from the two, who were beginning to close in on him. There was a darkened alleyway behind him, which, also judging from his knowledge of plot lines of crime movies, would be a bad place to end up, but there was nowhere else to go. “I…I gave you what you want, right? So just let me go.”

One of the men laughed derisively. “You seriously think _that’s_ gonna convince either of us?” He widened his eyes mockingly and clasped his hands. “Oh, please, don’t hurt me, I’m too busy working for Mr. Wayne. That’s the problem with you folks. You think nothin’ can hurt you till you’re faced with it, and then guess what!”

  
“Well, you’re wrong about _that.”_ Jeremiah said coldly. “You just have a vendetta with Wayne Enterprises because Thomas fired you.”

“Oh, Thomas, is it? First name basis, ain't you fancy. You knew him personally, kid?”

“Yes.” _Well, sort of._ He added for good measure, “And his son Bruce, who also happensto run the company now, is my friend.”

“Is that so?” They continued to back him toward the alley, and Jeremiah wished desperately he’d kept his mouth shut. _You’re just making things worse now. Give them what they want and go._ But before he could do that, the man continued, “You can tell Bruce Wayne then, as a personal message from everyone he’s ever tossed away because he thought he didn’t _need_ them, that he’s gonna fail and his company will be _nothing.”_

Jeremiah glared at him, forgetting everything he was planning on doing (like running away), because _no one_ said things like that about Bruce…they shouldn’t even be allowed to _think_ something like that.

“I won’t tell him, because you’re wrong, and that will never happen.”

Before he could move, the man was on him in the blink of an eye, and Jeremiah found himself pinned up against the brick wall of the alley, one burly and unmovable hand around his throat. He dropped the supplies he was holding with nerveless fingers, panic rushing through him as he realized how foolish it had been to say what he had. The man leaned close, speaking between gritted teeth.

“You coulda gotten away if you’d just given us what we asked for nicely, but it looks like that’s not gonna happen.” he said quietly, unsheathing a knife from his belt. Jeremiah sucked in a breath, trying to twist out of his grasp, but couldn’t move. For a moment he thought he saw Jerome in front of him, and it was his brother standing in the place the man had been, leering at him with a twisted grin, the knife blade gleaming as he held it up. Memories echoed in his head, playing on repeat like a broken record, so real that he felt like he really  _was_ there.

_“You see things the way you want it to be, you hide from the truth. And the truth is, if you just see the funny side of life, maybe you’ll realize who you really are.”_

_No. That’s over. Jerome’s in Arkham, and Galavan’s dead, and it’s never happening again._

_It's over for good, just try to let it go..._

_“I know you better than anyone else, Miah…better than you know yourself."_

He was back at the penthouse, felt the knife twisting into his ribcage, saw the demented glee flashing in his twin’s eyes, identical to his own, heard his words just as clearly as he’d heard the man’s…

_It’s not real, he’s not real, not that version of him anyway, you have to get him out of your head._

He blinked, pulling himself back to the present and focusing on the man who was still standing in front of him, the knife still held where it had been moments before. “I’ll give you what you want.” he managed to say, his voice trembling. All _he_ wanted was to get back to the safety of his home, back to Ecco and the certainty that no one would find him unless he wanted them to. “Whatever you want.”

“Too late.” the man said disinterestedly, and Jeremiah couldn’t take his eyes off the knife, couldn’t stop thinking about Jerome and the murderous look in his brother’s eyes. “I gave you a chance.” 

The knife flashed down, and Jeremiah closed his eyes, unable to do anything but wait with a sort of dim resignation to meet his fate. It was a surprise, then, when there was a whooshing sound from above them and he heard a solid thump as the man’s body hit the ground, accompanied by a grunt of surprise. His eyes flew open, staring at the sight in front of him.

The man’s body lay prone and unconscious at his feet, the knife dropped from his limp hand. Standing over him was a figure dressed entirely in black, a mask concealing the top half of his face. Jeremiah stared, confused, as the figure straightened up, adjusting the gloves on his hands (black, like everything else) and glanced at the alley entrance where the other thug had been moments before. He was gone now, abandoning his companion at the first sign of trouble, and the stranger turned back to Jeremiah, his own eyes widening behind the mask.

“Oh, hi.” he said before he could stop himself, and at the sound of his voice, Jeremiah froze in disbelief.

“Bruce?” he half-gasped, not sure if he should trust his own eyes. The alley was dark, obscuring the other’s face even more than the mask did, but he knew that voice well enough.

The figure shuffled his feet. “So, this isn’t exactly what I was expecting,” he began sheepishly, then looked back at the body on the ground between them. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

“Wait a second, can we just…” He held up his hands, trying to figure out what was happening. “Can we address the fact that _you’re_ here too? In…whatever _that_ is?” He nodded at the getup his friend was wearing. “I kind of feel like I should be the one asking questions here.”

Bruce pulled off the mask, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, you probably should.” he conceded. “But I was just surprised to run into you.”

“Thank you for that, by the way.” Jeremiah nudged the unconscious man’s arm with his foot gingerly, then bent down to retrieve his wallet. “I didn’t know people actually could get mugged. I’ve only ever seen it on TV.”

“Why _are_ you here?” Bruce asked, helping him collect the wires and supplies that were scattered on the ground around them. 

“Working on a project.” He raised an eyebrow at his friend. “Your turn.”

“Well, it’s kind of complicated.” Bruce said slowly, kicking a pebble against the alley wall. “You might laugh at me.”

“ _Bruce._ ” he protested. “You know I wouldn’t.”

The other boy sighed. “I don’t really know, myself. But I got to thinking about Ra’s al Ghul said—”

“Sorry, _who_?”

“The guy at the Yuyan building. The one who I’ve been trying to take down. He’s delusional, of course, about me being his heir or whatever he calls it, but he said something to me that I couldn’t stop thinking about.”

“What was it?”

“He was talking about how it’s too late to save Gotham. That there isn’t anyone standing between this city and destruction. And I thought maybe he was right about that. The GCPD can’t control all the crime here by themselves.”

Jeremiah looked at him with growing realization. “So you want to do it yourself.”

He shrugged. “I mean, yeah. I still have to work some things out…”

“Bruce, you’re saying you really think you can control all the crime in Gotham that the police haven’t been able to handle?” he asked incredulously, not bothering to hide the surprise in his tone. Bruce fiddled with the straps on his gloves. “You can’t do that, you’re putting yourself in danger.”

“If I don’t, then no one in this city will be safe.” his friend said firmly. “I know there’s a lot of stuff I haven’t figured out yet, but I have to do it. No one else will.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s your responsibility.” Jeremiah argued. “Bruce, you can’t be serious about this.”

“I am. I’m dead serious. Alfred knows, too, and he’s been helping me. And Selina.”

Through his worry, Jeremiah felt a stab of something that could almost be jealousy. _Selina_ and _Alfred both know…he trusted them with this._

_But he wasn’t going to tell you._

As if reading his thoughts, Bruce added, “I knew you would worry, Miah. I was planning on explaining all this to you soon, I just didn’t know how.”

_He doesn’t trust you, he doesn’t trust you, he…_

“No.” he whispered to himself, and Bruce sighed.

“I really was going to tell you.”

“Okay.” He searched his friend’s face for the truth, but the shadows hid his expression and he couldn’t tell if he meant it or not.

Like he was still wearing a mask. 

His mind flashed back to the nightmare from three weeks before and he closed his eyes for a moment to shut it out.

“But I have to do this.” Bruce continued earnestly, and Jeremiah knew no amount of argument would convince him otherwise. “Ra’s al Ghul might be wrong about a lot of things, but whatever he says, I _do_ have a sort of obligation to Gotham. My family’s been here for so many years, and my company controls so much that it makes sense I should be the one to keep it from destroying itself. There are good people in this city, and they deserve to be protected.”

“Bruce, that’s just it. They don’t deserve you. Maybe you’re right about the crime and all that, and maybe the police won’t be able to control every single time someone breaks the law, but you shouldn’t have to put yourself in danger to make sure people are safe. That’s not fair.”

_They can’t have you, Bruce. If this breaks you, then what will I have left?_

_You don’t belong to Gotham, and you don’t belong to the ties that bind you to an important role in this city. The role you chose to take up. You don’t belong to any of that._

_You belong to me._

_And they can’t take you away._

“If I don’t do this, who will?” Bruce countered, turning the mask over in his hands. “Someone _has_ to do it—”

“But it doesn’t have to be you.”

“—and Gotham has always been a part of me. This is my city, and if no one else will guard it, I will.”

“Bruce, that’s nice and all, but what makes you think you can take down all the people that the entire police force can’t? You’re just one person, and I know you’ve trained in combat and things like that, but you’re only human. How do you expect to make that much of a difference?” The words sounded heartless when he spoke them, but he didn’t know what else to say. Gotham couldn’t claim Bruce for it’s own…if it did, that would be the end to everything they’d had together. Bruce would be consumed with his task, and he would forget about his friend, about how they were always supposed to be together…

_You can’t let anything steal him away from you._

“I saved you, didn’t I?” Bruce pointed out, glancing down at the still body between them on the alley floor. “If I hadn’t showed up, you could have gotten hurt.”

He had a point, but Jeremiah wasn’t going to admit that. “Coincidence. You just happened to be here. And besides, I'm just one person.”

“One person is important.” his friend said quickly. “That’s one more person the GCPD wouldn’t have saved.”

He shrugged. “Okay, fine. But you clearly haven’t thought this through. How are you going to be a…” he gestured at Bruce’s outfit, “whatever that is, and run your company at the same time? _And_ maintain your position as a public figure? What happens when people figure out Bruce Wayne is running around at night in a mask punching criminals?”

“They won’t find out.” Bruce said confidently. “I’ll work out some way to make sure it stays a secret.”

He could tell by the look in his friend’s eyes that there was no winning this battle, so he didn’t try to dispute the point anymore. There wasn't any purpose in trying...when Bruce was set on something, there was no convincing him to change his mind. “Well, thanks again for that.” He looked down at the still-unconscious body of the man on the ground, trying to sound nonchalant but his mind was racing. 

_You can’t just walk away from this, you can’t let the city consume him. That’s not his job, it’s not who he is…he’s supposed to be your friend, and he can’t be anything else, that’s just crazy!_

There was a time when Jeremiah would have considered a train of thought like that to be wrong, even verging on obsessive, but now, it seemed purely logical and made perfect sense. After all, Bruce _was_ his best friend. And that meant he could never leave, didn’t it? 

_Well, not that he_ can’t _leave._  he corrected himself hastily. But _he shouldn’t._

Jeremiah had no one else…Ecco sort of counted as a friend, but she was his employee, and their friendship was born out of their constantly being around one another. Selina was his friend too, but she came and went, while Bruce was always there, he could always be relied on, and even if something went wrong, Jeremiah could always count on him to come back, to make things better again.

_Gotham will steal him away, it won’t give him back, and you’ll be alone again, alone with the voices in your head, with Jerome, because Bruce is the only think keeping them away, he’s the only thing stopping you from becoming like them…_

_You can’t become like them._

_You can’t give him up._

Without thinking, he reached out to grab Bruce’s arm, as if that would keep him from being taken from him. His friend looked at him questioningly, and Jeremiah pulled away, wishing he could voice his thoughts, but he couldn’t. 

He only knew that he couldn’t let Bruce leave him.

Before either of them could speak, the sound of a car pulling up outside the alleyway broke the silence, and Jeremiah glanced over to see Ecco leaning out the driver’s window, one hand on the wheel. Eighties music was blasting through the speakers, but she turned it down as the car came to a stop, and she tilted her head.

“Jeremiah, is that you?” 

He stepped out of the shadows as Bruce disappeared deeper into the alley. “Yeah, it’s me.” He glanced back, but his friend was gone, not a single movement in the darkness where he had just stood. Ecco tapped on the outside of the car door impatiently.

“Did you get all the stuff you want?” she asked. He nodded, looking back again at the abandoned alleyway. 

“Yes.” He piled the supplies in the back seat of the car and got in on the passenger’s side. Ecco pulled a u-turn in the empty street and started back the way she came, glancing over at him in concern.

“You okay? You look a little spooked.”

He pulled off his glasses, cleaning the lens on the edge of his shirt so he could have a good excuse to not look at her. She knew him well enough to tell immediately if something was wrong…sometimes he wished she wasn’t quite so observant. “Everything’s fine.” he said quietly, wishing that were true. He wasn’t sure what to think of the things that had happened in the short span of the past few minutes, but he knew one thing for certain.

No matter what Bruce did, Jeremiah wasn’t going to lose him again.

 

\+ + + + + 

 

“By the way,” Selina said casually as she sat on top of the bookcase in the workshop—a place Jeremiah wasn’t sure how she’d found a way to transform into a seat—“don’t mention the knife thing around Bruce.”

Jeremiah, who was busy winding a piece of wire around the prototype of the battery he was constructing, looked up. “What knife thing? The one he was looking for?”

“Yeah.”

“Why not? I thought he really wanted to find it.” Jeremiah hadn’t seen Bruce for a week, not since that night in the alley. He’d gone to Wayne Manor a few times after working up the courage to face his friend again, but Bruce had always been gone; even Alfred hadn’t been home to answer the door. “Isn’t that what he’s been doing this whole time?”

“Well, yes, and he did find it.” Selina said cryptically, obviously enjoying the suspense. “But some things happened.”

She had his full attention now, the project he had been bent over before abandoned as he listened to what Selina said. “He found the knife,” she continued, “but people were killed in the process.”

Jeremiah’s eyes widened. “Killed?”

She nodded. “The weird old guy…Ra’s whatever-his-name-is…he died too, so _that's_ good, but not before other people were murdered.”

“Oh.” There wasn’t anything he could say to that. He certainly couldn’t say the first thing that had come to his mind, which was, _As long as Bruce is all right._ That would make it sound as if he didn’t care if other people had died…of _course_ he cared about that, he was only glad Bruce was safe, but it wouldn’t have come across the right way, he was sure.

So he stayed silent.

“He told you about the whole ‘saving Gotham’ plan he had going, right?” she asked after a pause, watching Jeremiah closely. He nodded.

“Yes.” He tried to keep the jealousy out of his voice. He didn’t blame Selina that Bruce had told her first…it wasn’t _her_ fault, and it didn’t change anything between them, of course, but…

It still stung a little that he hadn’t been the first one to know.

“Well, he’s over that now.” she said matter-of-factly. “Thinks he’s only going to cause more trouble if he tries to help people.” 

“Good.” Jeremiah muttered, then looked up quickly, ashamed. _I didn’t mean it, I only meant it was good he wasn’t going to be so focused on a goal he wouldn’t ever be able to reach…and now he won’t abandon me, or you, Selina, that’s all I meant…_

Selina hadn’t heard, much to his relief. “So he’s been at home moping around all day yesterday and today. I was thinking maybe you should come over and try to cheer him up. He won't even talk to me.”

Jeremiah perked up at the thought. He had only seen Bruce during the past few weeks when he’d been working on his search for the knife, and then in the alley. He didn’t think things were strained between him and his friend…he would never think something like that…but it would be nice to see him when he _wasn’t_ chasing down madmen or pummeling criminals in the dark. 

And no matter what Selina had said about people being killed, he could only think of how happy he was that Bruce could finally go back to being his old self…no more crime-fighting, no more weapon investigations, no more kidnappings…

Jeremiah smiled to himself.

_We can go back to who we used to be_


	16. Missed Chances

**Chapter Sixteen**

 

“I didn’t realize there would be so many people here.” Jeremiah looked around uneasily at the crowded study, where Bruce’s numerous guests for the fundraiser he was hosting at the manor had gathered. If it had been anyone aside from his friend who had asked him to attend an event like this, he would have refused right away…crowds were bad enough, crowds in small spaces where he felt like he could barely breathe or move were unbearable. But Bruce had invited him, and Jeremiah was just desperate enough to see his friend again that he’d allowed himself to actually accept. 

So he tried to make the best of the situation, tried to ignore the way it was getting hard to focus and the way his hands were shaking.

Selina, standing beside him and looking equally displeased at their surroundings, shrugged. “You realize what he’s doing, right?” 

Jeremiah looked over at her, watching as she unobtrusively brushed against the coat of a middle-aged man walking past them, turning back to him with a gold-encrusted pen in her hand. Normally, he would have scolded her for stealing, especially at a charity event, but now he was too busy looking for a way to escape the crowd to bother. 

“What do you mean, what he’s doing?”

“All this,” Selina stretched her arms out after safely depositing the pen into her own pocket, “is just a distraction. He’s using it as a way to cover up the things that have happened. He wants to forget about all the trouble with that Ra’s al Ghul guy, and this is how he’s doing it.”

Jeremiah had suspected Bruce had an ulterior motive for overseeing a gathering like this…he knew his friend balked at being the center of attention, and hosting a party at his own house was all but guaranteed he would have to be in the spotlight to some extent. That being said, Bruce was nowhere to be seen at the moment, but Jeremiah knew Selina was right. Bruce hadn’t been himself lately, not since he’d gotten back from having been kidnapped, really, and he was trying to forget about it all.

_But aren’t we good enough for you? Do you really need all this to make you happy?_ he thought, slightly envious. He shook away the thought, deciding that he would accept whatever it took for his friend to be all right again, even if it involved being at overcrowded events where he knew next to no one. 

Selina tapped him on the shoulder. “You want to escape?” she asked, nodding to the hall entrance that led to the kitchen. Jeremiah smiled at her gratefully, following her out of the too-loud study where Gotham’s elite milled around, drinking champagne and admiring their surroundings. He'd been in constant terror that someone would recognize him and think he was Jerome, and he breathed a sigh of relief when they were in the hallway, straightening his glasses. Some of the panic that had been welling up in him at the close proximity of so many strangers began to fade away, and the faint tremors in his hands had stopped.

“Couldn’t he at least take his mind off of things by doing something he actually likes? I thought he said he hated parties.” He didn’t _think_ Bruce had said it, he _knew._ Because it was something they had in common, and Jeremiah never forgot those things.

Selina examined the pen she’d stolen, turning it over in her hand and admiring the gold edges as they caught and reflected the light. “I don’t know. He’s been acting weird lately. Not like himself.”

“Just because of the knife thing?”

“It’s not just that.” She started off down the hall with Jeremiah close behind. Their steps were muffled by the carpet and it was blissfully quiet, the chatter of the crowd in the study now a muted whisper in the distance. “It’s because people died. And he couldn’t save them. He feels like he let them down.”

“But he can’t save everyone. It doesn’t mean it’s his fault.”

“Yeah, I know that, but he doesn’t. I’ve told him the exact same thing, but he just doesn’t think it’s true.” Selina sighed. “The problem with Bruce is that he feels responsible for _everything,_ and if just one person isn’t saved, then he thinks he’s failed.”

“Well, he—” Jeremiah began as they stepped into the kitchen, then stopped short. Selina froze, staring, and a million unreadable emotions flashed across her face in the ensuing silence.

Bruce, and the girl he’d been in the middle of kissing who neither Jeremiah or Selina had ever seen before, looked up at the intrusion, and the billionaire’s entire face flushed bright red to the tips of his ears. He straightened up, shuffling his feet like a child caught stealing candy, and didn’t look at either of his friends for a long moment. The tension that sparked in the air between the four of them was stifling, but no one made an attempt to make the first move. Eventually, the unfamiliar girl linked her arm into Bruce’s and arched an eyebrow at Jeremiah and Selina, who stood frozen, shoulder to shoulder, in the doorway.

“Who are you?” she asked, completely unapologetic, as if she hadn’t just been caught kissing their mutual best friend. They stared back, not knowing what to say. Bruce cleared his throat nervously, finally wrenching his gaze up. But he was looking at Selina…he didn’t even seem to notice Jeremiah.

“This—” he began, but Selina cut him off before he could say anything else. Jeremiah could practically feel the rage radiating off of her. He wished Bruce would realize he was there too…his friend hadn’t even granted him eye contact.

_It makes sense._ he told himself, trying to sound reasonable. _Selina’s his girlfriend. And he’s worried about what she’ll think. It makes perfect sense._ But for some reason, the explanation wasn’t satisfying enough. It didn’t erase the fact that Bruce hadn’t seemed to care what Jeremiah thought about any of this…just because of his relationship with Selina, he cared about what she thought more.

“She’s in the way.” the voice in his head said sharply, without warning. Jeremiah flinched. “In _your_ way. You should have done something before it was too late.”

_Too late for what?_ He kept his eyes on Bruce, who _still_ hadn’t noticed him.

“Too late to prevent her taking him away from you.” it murmured, and there was something dark and vicious edging the words. Jeremiah shivered, not wanting to hear anymore. He didn’t like what the voice was suggesting.

“I think I should be asking who _you_ are.” Selina’s voice brought him back to the moment. Her tone was bitingly contemptuous, but he heard the betrayal and pain hiding underneath. The other girl glanced to Bruce, waiting for him to explain. He finally looked at Jeremiah, but his expression was almost passive, as if he was looking at a stranger. He was clearly still thinking about Selina.

“See what I mean?” the voice hissed. “You’re already beginning to lose. You’ll become no one. It’s only a matter of time.”

_Stop. Please, please stop._

“He doesn’t want you, doesn’t need you.” It was mocking him now, exploiting his weakness against him, because it knew everything about Jeremiah, and it knew what mattered most to him. “Can’t you see that? You’ve got to get him back. Selina’s already stolen him, but we can deal with _that_ later, can’t we? Still, you can’t let him escape any more than he already has.”

“This…” Bruce began hesitantly, his gaze darting back and forth between them with a nervous energy— _He’s looking at you now, he hasn’t forgotten you, not entirely_ —“this is, um, Grace. Grace Blomdahl.”

“ _That’s_ a stupid name.” Selina retorted, each word laced with a combination of hurt and hatred toward the stranger. “Where’d you find her, Bruce?” It was more of an accusation than a question.

“We…we used to go to school together.” he explained half-heartedly, glancing sideways at Grace, who seemed supremely unaffected by the entire situation.

“Oh, I see. I didn’t know the typical way of greeting old school friends was to make out with them in your kitchen.” Selina bit back. “Silly me, I never learned these things.” The sarcasm in her tone was lethal.

“Selina, I—” he began helplessly, and she wrinkled her nose at him in distaste.

“Don’t. Don’t say anything. I don’t care.” She _did_ care, that much was obvious by the almost unnoticeable threat of tears glistening in her eyes, but Jeremiah knew she would rather be caught dead than showing any sign of weakness. “Have fun _reminiscing_ with your _friend.”_ She turned on her heel and marched off, disappearing down the hall. Jeremiah watched her leave silently, then turned back to Bruce, not bothering to hide the disappointment in his expression.

Bruce gestured helplessly. “Miah, can you go explain to her…” he began, and as soon as he spoke, the voice crashed back into Jeremiah’s thoughts, so fast he’d barely had time to process his friend’s words.

“Explain to her? To Selina? He doesn’t even think he owes _you_ an explanation, that’s how much he cares about you! You’re already losing him, you were too slow, you didn’t take your chance when you had it.”

_Chance for what?_ he retorted quickly, his thoughts confusing him even more, although he couldn't help but understand. Even if it was just a part of him, he understood.

But he didn’t want to.

“A chance for you to _matter.”_ it snapped, as if this was somehow _his_ fault. As if he hadn’t tried hard enough. “You blew it, you didn’t realize you mean nothing, and now it’s too late. I tried to warn you.”

_No._

_You're wrong._

_You have to be wrong._

“First it was Selina, she’s the one who started all this. You should have seen that coming. It was _obvious,_ Jeremiah. She wanted Bruce for herself, and she began to pull him away. Didn't I say she was going to take him from you? She already has. You didn’t even notice. And now he doesn’t even care about _her_ anymore.”

_You’re just jealous…_

“No, _you’re_ jealous! I’m _you,_ remember? I’m everything you want to be, you just don’t have the courage to own up to it!” The voice was shouting at him now, and he couldn’t do anything, could only stand, frozen, in the doorway, as Bruce’s words, whatever he was saying, echoed and melted away before he could hear any of them. He wanted the voice to go, he wanted it to stop saying those ludicrous, horrible, deluded, _true_ things. 

_I don’t want to be you._

“You don’t have a choice.”

He swayed, grabbing onto the doorframe, and Bruce frowned. “Are you okay?”

He wanted to laugh at that, it was a ridiculous question. _No, I’m not, because you’re abandoning us…you’re abandoning_ me _…and you don't care. You don't realize._

_And if it really began with Selina…_

_Then this has been a long time coming. All it took was one last push._

_I’ve lost you, Bruce._

“Please, can you go talk to Selina?” Bruce was saying, and Jeremiah suddenly never wanted to hear that name again…why did it matter what Selina thought? Why was that more important than what _he_ thought? And why did he have to be the one to do it? This was Bruce’s fault, why couldn’t _he_ explain it to Selina, if she was apparently so _important_ to him? 

“You do understand now, don't you?” the voice whispered. “You’ve finally realized it.”

His head was aching, and the girl—Grace whatever-her-last-name-was—was staring at him like he didn’t belong here…like Bruce wasn’t _his_ …

Like she had won...

He wanted to kill her.

Milliseconds after the thought crossed his mind, searing itself into his memory, he drew in a sharp breath and shuddered. _No, you can’t think that. You can’t. You didn’t. You don’t really want that, you can’t think that way, that wasn’t real…_

“Oh, broski, I’m so _proud!”_ Jerome’s voice rose above everything else in his head. “I _told_ ya you’d learn someday!”

He wanted to cry…wanted to run out of the room and escape all this, pretend it had never happened. Everything felt _wrong,_ like he had been shoved into some horrible nightmare, but it was real this time, and Bruce was still looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to go talk to Selina, because _she_ was important, and this unknown girl beside Bruce was important, but Jeremiah…

Jeremiah was nothing.

_You’re supposed to need me, Bruce._

_Only me._

He didn’t say anything to the other boy as he turned away, closing the door behind him, afraid that if he stayed, Bruce would begin to hear his thoughts. They were so _loud_ in his head. It was like he was back in the overcrowded study again, surrounded by a million unknown faces that scared and revolted him, but this time he couldn’t escape into the quiet, because it was all in his mind. 

“Still trying to escape?” the voice murmured condescendingly. “I will say I admire your tenacity, it’s not something I expected from you.”

“Please don’t.” he whispered, backing up against the wall until his thoughts calmed down and he could think straight again. “I don’t want to become you, why can’t you see that?”

“But you have to admit, I am right.” it insisted. “You saw for yourself, you’re too late. Bruce doesn’t care what you think. It’s like you’re not even there. You’re just a passing plaything in his life that he’ll discard as soon as he’s tired of you, as soon as he’s found something better to waste his time on.” 

“That’s not—”

“You’re too late, Jeremiah. You’ve lost your chance to mean something to him, and you’re alone again.” The words were like a bombshell, breaking down his final defenses, and for a moment, something uncontrolled and dangerous flashed through his eyes. Then it was gone, and there was no one around to notice it.

“You may believe that,” he said tonelessly, suddenly feeling very tired, “but I won’t. If I do, then what’s the point of anything? I might as well have never met him.” He inhaled slowly, trying to calm his nerves. “I won’t leave him. He’s my friend.”

“I never said you should leave him.” the voice replied, equally composed. “But you do realize that you can’t ever go back. Things have changed for you, Jeremiah, and it’s time you start changing with them.”

“But I don’t want to.” He hated how pitiful he sounded…was he really losing an argument to a voice in his head? A voice coming from his own thoughts?

“Suit yourself.” If he could see the voice, he was sure it would have shrugged. “You’ll see I’m right, soon enough.”

“Doubtful.” Jeremiah muttered, gathering the will to stand up straight and escape the manor out a side door, leaving behind Bruce and making no attempt to even think about finding Selina.

 

\+ + + + + +

 

Jeremiah didn’t like arguing with Ecco, mostly because she was usually right in the end. And whenever they argued, she would give him a look that clearly said, _Out of the two of us, who here has more experience in literally everything?_ She never said it aloud, but it was clear in her face.

Still, he found himself arguing with her more often than not, and today was one of those days. His assistant was sitting serenely on the arm of the couch, drinking tea like she always did when it was after five in the afternoon, and listening patiently to Jeremiah explain why he should go into the city and hunt down his friend, who apparently hadn’t shown up at his house in the past few days.

“I’m sure Mr. Wayne’s all right.” she said comfortingly, but Jeremiah didn’t feel comforted. “You said he’s going through some tough times, right? The kid’s probably just trying to enjoy himself and have a good time to get his mind off things. That’s all.”

“But Bruce doesn’t _do_ that.” Jeremiah insisted, ignoring the way Ecco gave him a placating smile. “And Alfred said he’s been going around with old school friends, and who _knows_ what they’ll be doing…”

“Uh, maybe having fun?” Ecco offered, sipping her tea. “He’s seventeen, give him a break. Kids do have fun, contrary to what you may believe.” She smiled at him fondly, but Jeremiah didn’t see it. He was busy staring at the floor, a scowl on his face. 

“But he’s never been like this before! He’s just…changed, all of a sudden, and it’s like the old Bruce was never there.” He knew he sounded petty and overprotective, but he couldn’t help it. Bruce hadn’t even attempted to call or talk to him after the fundraiser at the manor, and when Jeremiah had gone over to see him, Alfred had said, not bothering to hide his own distaste at the thought, that his ward had gone “traipsing about” with old friends and wasn’t home very much. 

“It’s sweet that you’re worried.” Ecco reached over to pat him on the shoulder. “But he’ll be fine. If it’s not the life for him, he’ll learn soon enough and come home, and if it is, then all well and good. The kid deserves a break.”

“But I miss him.” he mumbled, blushing when he realized Ecco had heard him. She rolled her eyes in what he thought was a very unsympathetic look.

“Have you eaten dinner? You always get in a bad mood when you’re hungry.”

“I had a pudding cup.”

“Not acceptable.” She pointed forcefully at the kitchen. “I did not come to work as your assistant for you to ignore my cooking in favor of a pudding cup. I’ll bet that’s all you’ve had today, too.” 

“I wasn’t hungry then.” He slouched moodily into the kitchen, digging through the fridge as he continued to protest, “But Bruce—”

“Will be fine.” Ecco assured him. “If he makes a mistake, that’s on him. You don’t have to involve yourself in everything he does, Jeremiah.”

He turned back to look at her, uncertainty crossing his face. She knew perfectly well how much Bruce meant to him, and the part of his mind that always insisted on being suspicious of everything whispered, _She’s trying to pull you two apart._ It was ridiculous and completely untrue, of course, he told himself, but the thought persisted. “I should at least go find him and make sure he’s okay. If he wants to do…all this stuff he’s doing…then fine. I can’t stop him. But I need to know he’d all right.” He was far from fine with the idea of Bruce continuing with this path he was on, but he couldn’t say that to Ecco…she would just chalk it up to him being out-of-sorts and not care. 

“Do you want to hear my opinion on the matter?” she asked, and before Jeremiah could reply that he didn’t, she continued, “I think you’re worried too much about this. And I think you’re becoming a little too dependent on Mr. Wayne.” She glanced at him around the doorway of the kitchen almost hesitantly, as if she wasn’t sure if she had overstepped her boundaries or not. 

Jeremiah slammed the fridge door shut and crossed his arms, stalking out of the kitchen and living room toward the hall that led to the workshop. “Fine. Think that, then. I don’t care.” He did, but Ecco didn’t need to know that. “I’m going to go find Bruce.”

“You don’t know how to drive!” she called after him.

“I’ll learn!” he retorted over his shoulder, slowing his steps so she could come catch up with him and say she’d take him into the city. 

“Good luck with that.” Ecco laughed, and Jeremiah paused, looking back. She was still sitting on the couch, watching him expectantly.

“Aren’t you going to follow me?” he asked, and she smirked.

“Nope. Call a taxi or look up some driver’s ed videos. I’m just your assistant, not your chauffeur.”

He glared. “Ecco.”

She matched his look. “Jeremiah. You can go after Mr. Wayne, but I’m not going to help you. I think it’s a waste of your time.”

“Well, it’s not.”

“Okay.” She shrugged, clearly unconvinced but willing to let him go. At least the virus wasn’t still lurking in the city and she wasn’t outright telling him he _couldn’t_ leave…but still. 

“Where do you think he’ll be?” he asked lamely, suddenly feeling very helpless. Ecco rarely refused to help him, and he wasn’t expecting her to abandon him now. 

“Probably out drinking or something like that.” Jeremiah stared, appalled. “So, considering you’re under twenty-one and don't have any sort of ID whatsoever, Mr. Disappear-Off-The-Radar, you’re not going to find him easily.”

Jeremiah’s shoulders slumped. “Oh. I didn’t think about that.”

“Maybe your brain would work better if you ate something more than one pudding cup a day, genius.”

“But he’s not twenty-one either.”

“He’s a billionaire, though. He can buy the place and make the rules” Ecco said, unaware that Bruce was doing that very thing as she spoke. “You won’t have that same luck.”

“I wouldn’t call it luck.” he scoffed, reluctantly shuffling back down the hall to the living room. “I refuse to believe he’s actually enjoying himself if that’s what he’s doing.”

“If that’s what makes you happy, then go ahead.” she said drily. 

_It’s not how Bruce is supposed to be. Not the real Bruce. He’s becoming someone else, and he can’t do that. I can’t let him do that._

“So self-centered.” the voice in his head remarked. Jeremiah gritted his teeth, adjusting his glasses in an impatient gesture that left them more askew than before. “Why haven’t you ever considered the obvious?”

_Which is?_

“Maybe you’re the one who needs to change. You’re desperate to be in control all the time, to dictate your own friend’s every decision. But really, he can be whatever he wants…he doesn’t have to think of you every step of the way, does he? That’s just selfishness on your part. But if _you_ allow yourself to become something different than before…”

_We’re not discussing this again. You’re trying to manipulate me into becoming you. I won’t do it._

“Manipulate you?” The voice laughed, high and sounding almost delirious, and it reminded him of Jerome. Just another reason why he couldn’t listen to what it told him to do. “No, that’s not quite right. Remember, I _am_ you. There is no manipulation going on here. It’s only you trying to convince yourself of the truth. Trying to free yourself from the cowardly nobody you’ve been all your life. You could be a _star,_ Jeremiah, but you have to set yourself free, first. It’s the only way.”

_You sound suspiciously like a bad talent agent,_ he retorted. _And right now, you’re in territory a bit above your pay grade. I’d suggest knocking it off._

“You’re lost. I understand.” The voice was almost compassionate now, and Jeremiah slumped down on the couch, at the opposite end from Ecco, trying to ignore it. “It can be confusing, this business of going mad. Truly, I sympathize.”

_I’m not going mad,_ he thought sharply, almost saying the words aloud before he caught himself. _If you’re going back to this whole schtick again, I—_

“Just an observation, but you’re very defensive. Insecurity, maybe? Uncertainty in yourself, maybe a suspicion that I might not be so wrong after all?”

_Shut up._

“Find out for yourself, then.” it suggested serenely. “Prove that I’m wrong. Validate your own sanity, if you can.”

_Oh, and how do you suggest that?_ He fumbled with his glasses again, his hands twitching with nervous energy. 

“You’re supposed to be smart, you figure it out.”

Jeremiah looked up quickly, a sudden inspired idea taking hold, accompanied by a flash of doubt. _Maybe it’s a trap. The voice is trying to corner you, to prove itself right. If you do this…_

He shook his head at himself. _It’s the only way to figure this out once and for all. The only way I can think of, at least._

And he was just desperate enough to listen to himself.

_It won’t fix everything, but if it’s enough to keep the voice away for a while, I’ll risk it._

“Ecco,” he started, and she glanced over at him.

“If you’re going to ask me to go find your friend with you again, I’m going to lock myself in my room and put on noise-cancelling headphones for the rest of the night.”

“No, it’s not that. But I do need you to take me somewhere.”

She set down her mug of tea. “Jeremiah, I understand your commitment to remaining anonymous to the world and hidden away, but would it really hurt you to get a driver’s license?”

“Just this once.” he pleaded, and she sighed, shaking her head.

“I’d suggest, for future reference, to stop taking spontaneous trips at nine o’clock at night, but okay. Where do you want to go?”

“Where _do_ you want to go, Jeremiah?” the voice chuckled, and he flinched. It sounded too much like Jerome. He didn’t want to think about his brother, least of all now. He drew in a deep breath, trying to forget.

“The police station.”

 

\+ + + + + +

 

The GCPD precinct was nearly empty for the night, only a few officers still seated at their desks, the lamps radiating harsh fluorescent lights. Jeremiah paused in the huge arched doorway of the building, anxiety at being in an unfamiliar place rushing through him.

_There’s nothing to be scared of here._

Looking over his shoulder at where Ecco had patiently parked the car outside and was currently taking a nap, legs propped up on the dashboard, Jeremiah squared his shoulders and stepped inside. His light footsteps reverberated in the quiet station as he crept toward the door on the other side of the room, the label “M.E.” on the frosted window. He paused right outside it, partly wanting to turn back, but no, he wasn’t going to come all this way and drag his assistant around Gotham late at night to let fear take over now. 

_What’s the worst that could happen?_

He knew the answer to that question, but he didn’t want to think about it. 

Hesitantly, he knocked on the door, and cringed at how loud it sounded. In reality, it was the faintest of taps, but to his mind, in the silence, it was deafening. He waited, scuffing his feet against the ground, and jumped when the handle twisted and the door creaked open.

_You shouldn’t have come here, you don't want to know…_

“Yes?” The familiar voice of Dr. Thompkins, one he hadn’t heard since the night more than three years ago at the charity ball, reached his ears. Jeremiah stared at the floor, feeling very foolish all of a sudden. This wasn’t even the right place to go, but he hadn’t known what else to do. He wouldn’t say he knew Dr. Thompkins well…the last time she’s seen him, she’d probably suspected him to be in league with Jerome, but at least he’d met her before. She wasn’t a total stranger. 

_And maybe she can tell you what you want to know._

The door opened wider, and he looked up timidly to see the woman in a white lab coat looking at him in surprise. “You’re—”

“Jeremiah Valeska.” he filled in for her, his voice sounding much too childish for his liking. _God, you’re eighteen years old. Act like it for once._ “I’m sorry to bother you here while you’re working…”

“I’m not working.” she assured him, stepping aside so he could enter the office. There was a table in the middle, one where he assumed the corpses of crime victims usually ended up, but it was fortunately corpse-less for the moment. “I’m…certainly surprised to see you here.” By the way she was looking at him, he could tell she wasn’t sure what to think.

“Yeah.” He stared around at the room, taking in his surroundings. Trying to ground himself before he lost all nerve and ran out. “I…um. I had a question.”

She held up a hand, forestalling anything else he was about to say. “Jeremiah, no one’s known where you’ve been for a long time, do you realize that? Jim…Captain Gordon…has been wondering where you disappeared to after that situation with your brother.”

_Great, now we’ve got to talk about Jerome even more._ He stifled a sigh. “Which situation?”

“Both, actually. The hostage scenario with Theo Galavan,” she noticed how his facial muscles twitched at the mention of that time, “and then again at the circus. Jim knew you were at Wayne Manor for an undisclosed amount of time after the first event, but then you were gone. He asked Bruce Wayne about it, but he only said you were somewhere safe, and he was making sure you’d be all right. When Jim saw you at the circus after Jerome…came back…he was going to talk to you, but he couldn’t find you afterward.”

So Bruce had helped him maintain his cover and anonymity. Jeremiah felt a surge of gratefulness for his friend, and an even stronger desire to get that Bruce back. The one who cared about him. “He’s right. I’m somewhere safe, and I’d prefer that place to stay as unknown as possible. It’s…less dangerous, the fewer people know.” This wasn’t what he wanted to talk about, but he would if it appeased the medical examiner’s curiosity.

She didn’t look too pleased at that, but decided against asking more questions on the subject. “Well, I, for one, had always been concerned for you. I’m afraid the first time I met you, I assumed you were associated with your brother. But obviously, that wasn’t the case.”

Jeremiah shrugged. “I don’t blame you. You had no reason to trust me.”

“I shouldn’t have been so suspicious, though.” she insisted. “But in any case, why are you here? Does anyone else know—”

“No. Only my assistant. I…didn’t know where else to go. I don’t know a lot of people in the city.” He looked up at her, hands clasped behind his back. “And I didn’t know who I could ask about…this.”

“Well, what’s the issue?” Dr. Thompkins asked, all business. She sat down in the swivel chair in the corner, crossing her legs and linking her fingers together. “I can try to help you.”

Jeremiah wasn’t sure if it was the stress of the situation or the fact that he hadn’t talked about this to nearly anyone, but he suddenly felt faint at the prospect of voicing his fears to this virtual stranger. Seeing the color drain from his face, Dr. Thompkins got to her feet again and took him by the arm, offering him the chair she’d just occupied. He accepted without argument. 

“Jeremiah, does this have to do with your brother?” she asked, concerned. He wasn’t sure what to say to that. He’d thought it had _everything_ to do with Jerome…he’d been so convinced there had been a toxin involved in the fact that the voice had been stuck in his head, that he’d been seeing his twin as if he was really there, but now he wasn’t so sure. With Jerome’s admission that there _hadn’t_ been a toxin, and his growing realization that the voice might just be a part of him he didn’t want to acknowledge, he didn’t know what to believe. 

“I…don’t know.” he said softly, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes with the back of his hand. He realized he was trembling, and tried to at least _look_ calm. “I used to think so, but I’m not sure, now.”

She knelt down to his eye level at he sat in the swivel chair like a student awaiting a meeting in the principal’s office, placing a hand over his. “It’s okay, Jeremiah. If something’s wrong, you can tell me.”

He tried to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry.” he whispered. “I don’t think I…”

_Don’t be a coward._

“Jeremiah, look at me.” she said quietly, her voice comforting but firm. He did, and she nodded. “Whatever’s bothering you, I’ll try to help. I just need to know what it is. You can take your time.”

He would have thanked her if he could speak, but his throat felt closed off. _You have to tell her. You have to prove the voice wrong._

_It’s the only way you can hope to make things normal again._

“Did you ever see a therapist after what happened with Galavan?” she asked softly. “Did you talk to anyone about it?”

He shook his head. “Only Bruce.” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. Even that wasn’t entirely true…he’d made every effort to avoid the subject with his friend, and it had only been brought up once or twice between them.

Dr. Thompkins sighed. “I should have taken charge of finishing up that case. I could have assigned you someone.”

“I didn’t want to talk about it. I wanted to forget it.” Talking about it now was painful enough, and it was three years in the past.

“That’s not healthy, Jeremiah. If you bottle up your emotions for too long, they can begin to control you.” He looked almost hopeful at that. 

_Maybe that’s what this is._ It was a strange sort of triumph…admitting he was damaged enough to actually believe he was seeing his brother shouldn’t have been a victory, but at least it could prove he wasn’t crazy.

It didn’t account for the voice, though.

“You’ve come to talk about that, haven’t you?” the doctor asked, reading his expressions like an open book. Jeremiah nodded hesitantly, twiddling his thumbs.

“I…I guess so. Sort of.” He took a deep breath and added before he could stop himself, “Ever since then I…I sometimes feel like…like I see Jerome, and even though I _know_ it’s not really him, I know he’s locked up in Arkham, and even before then, he was dead, I felt like it was real. I sometimes…thought he was really there. He’d say things, and sometimes…sometimes I’d answer.” That was putting it mildly, considering the countless conversations he’d had with the version of his brother in his head, but Dr. Thompkins didn’t need to know that. She looked concerned enough as it was.

“So you’ve come to ask me for help.”

He nodded. “If you can.” 

“It’s not really my line of work, you know. Maybe I could refer someone…”

His eyes widened. The last thing he wanted was some shrink sticking their nose into his life…that wasn’t why he was here. “I just wanted to know why it was happening.”

“Jeremiah, I highly recommend you get some sort of treatment for this, you have to realize—”

“I don’t want treatment, I’m not crazy.” he insisted too sharply, defensive. 

“And I didn’t say you were. But you have to realize that, like it or not, you were severely traumatized by the events Galavan involved you in. I’m not a psychiatrist, but from what you’re saying, you’ve let that trauma take over your life. That can be dangerous.”

He shifted in the chair impatiently. “I just want it to go away.”

“Then you can’t keep repressing these things. You should take my advice. I have contacts who could help you.”

“But I don’t…”

“Listen,” she said gently, looking him directly in the eye, “I’m not qualified to help you, and I can’t do much more than explain why those things are happening. You need someone who can.”

“I don’t _need_ anyone.” he repeated, determined that she wouldn’t convince him into some sort of horrendous therapy sessions where he’d have to talk about his past and his childhood to some compete stranger… _that_ was out of the question. “I only wanted to know what was happening.” He didn’t like the pity in her eyes that she was trying to hide. “And you’ve explained it, so I don’t need anything else.” Sure, he’d wanted help, maybe advice on how to get the voices to go away, but not if _she_ wasn’t going to be the one to help. He began to get up, but Dr. Thompkins stopped him.

“Jeremiah, I know we’re not familiar beyond acquaintances, but I know you’ve got a lot of potential in you, and I don’t want to see that destroyed by your past and your brother. I wish you’d listen to me.”

“I’ve lived with the memory of my brother trying to kill me ever since I was a child.” he said quietly, ignoring the way his voice trembled slightly. “And I don’t think anyone will be able to change that.”

“You can’t expect to live the rest of your life like this, can you?”

He crossed his arms, feeling his last few ounces of courage fading away. “That’s why I came to you. I thought you were going to help me.”

“I told you, I’m not qualified…”

“I just want him out of my head.” Tears sprang to his eyes before he could stop them, and he clenched his hands into fists. _Oh, for the love of God, don’t you dare cry._ “I…I can’t…” 

She reached out wordlessly, pulling him into a hug, and Jeremiah didn’t resist. True, he barely knew Dr. Thompkins, and so would usually have hated any sort of physical contact with a stranger, but there was something about her that he thought might have been what a mother should be like, not that he had much evidence to go off of based on his _own_ mother in that regard. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against her shoulder and wished his life could have been normal. Maybe he and Bruce could have been friends under different circumstances, maybe his brother wouldn’t have spent his life trying to kill him, and maybe he wouldn’t have had to live in an underground labyrinth in constant fear that he would be found by his one last remaining family member who wanted him dead or insane. 

_But that’s not how your life is. And it never will be._

He sniffed, drawing himself up straight and blinking away any further threat of tears. “Well, I only wanted to know what was causing the voices. And now you’ve told me, so I might as well leave now.” _That should be enough to make them shut up for a while, at least. I’ve proved my point. I’m not crazy._ He stood up, brushing past Dr. Thompkins toward the door, and she followed him.

“Did you say voices? As in plural?” Her brow furrowed in confusion and Jeremiah paused, one hand on the doorknob as he realized he hadn’t even mentioned the other voice in his head. 

The one that wasn’t really Jerome at all.

_If you lie to her, you won’t get the right answers. You won’t be able to show it that you’re as sane as everyone else. That you’re not losing your mind._

_Just tell her the truth._

But the truth was a bit more difficult to tell than he’d expected.

It wasn’t so bad, admitting Jerome’s presence in his head…after the doctor’s explanation about trauma and all that, it made sense, at least. And he could find a way to put a stop to it himself. He was almost sure of that. But the other voice…that was only him, it couldn’t be blamed on anything else. And he wasn’t sure Dr. Thompkins would just chalk it up to his paranoia…even Jeremiah knew it was more than that.

_But you’re not crazy. You’re perfectly sane, perfectly in control, and all you have to do is find a way to push the voice away. That’s all. Now that you can figure out how to get rid of Jerome, the other voice should go, too._

At least, that was what he told himself.

It was the only thing he could say.

He turned back to the medical examiner, giving her a shaky smile. “I meant voice. Singular.”

She looked a little suspicious at that, but didn’t pursue the question. “Well, okay. But I wish you’d let someone help you.”

“I don’t need help.”

Dr. Thompkins sighed. “At least come see me if it gets worse. Can you promise me that?”

He shrugged. “Okay. Thanks for…” For what? All she’d done was diagnose him with being traumatized about something that he already knew he’d never forget. “For letting me talk to you.”

He left the precinct, and Ecco leaned over to open the passenger door. She tossed him a grease-spotted paper bag and turned the key in the ignition. “There’s a burger place across the street, and since you’re apparently on a hunger strike, I got you dinner.”

He gingerly set the bag aside, shutting the door behind him. “I’m good, but thanks.”

“No doing, Mr. Pudding Cup.” She wagged a finger at him before spinning the car around in the empty street. Jeremiah wished that she could at least turn at a stop sign for once. 

“You’re fired if you call me that again.” he retorted, and Ecco rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

“Oh yeah? Who’s gonna drive you around the city on your little late-night adventures, then? What was that about, by the way?”

He stared out the window, resting his chin on his hand. “I just wanted to ask someone a question. It wasn’t anything important.”

Ecco could tell by his tone he didn’t want her to pry, and she’d learned her lesson about _that_ a while back. So she lapsed into silence as they drove down the narrow streets of Gotham, and Jeremiah watched the street lamps on the sidewalk flash by, lost in thought. 

Had he really even proved anything? Sure, maybe he wasn’t crazy because he was hearing Jerome, but what about the other voice? He still didn’t know why it was there, or what it meant for him.

After everything, he only had more questions than answers.


	17. Calm Before The Storm

**Chapter Seventeen**

 

Jerome liked being in Arkham.

Sure, it wasn’t a _nice_ place, not by a long shot, but then again, he didn’t have much patience for places that were nice. There was no character to be had in a place that didn’t contain a little healthy danger and the occasional spontaneous fistfight. And Arkham certainly was not lacking in those areas.

At first it had been boring. The first time he’d been here (“round one”, as he referred to it in his head), back before he’d met Galavan and been killed by his little twerp of a brother, hadn’t been so bad…he’d never been in an asylum before, and there had been plenty to explore. But after being stuck back in a cell following the botched plan to take over the city with his army of bloodthirsty followers, Arkham had lost some of its charm for him. Looking at the same four walls and the same faces in the rec room every day did get a little tedious after a while. 

But he’d found ways to liven things up quickly enough. He was Jerome Valeska, after all…his very name was synonymous to chaos, wasn’t it? And it didn’t take much to cause a stir in Arkham; all the other inmates never seemed to have heard of the word ingenuity. Really, Jerome had expected more of these lunatics, but if he had to be an initiator, who was he to complain?

Once his face, reattached by the resident physicians at the asylum, was in less danger of falling off than it had been when he’d hastily stapled it on after his reawakening, he’d sat in his cell and begun to think of some fresh new ideas to get the guards’ attention. There wasn’t anything he really wanted to accomplish by doing so…a good confrontation and maybe a little unregulated brawl would keep him sufficiently entertained. The guards had been hard to crack in the beginning, which was to be expected. They _were_ in an insane asylum for criminals, and certainly Jerome would have to work to make sure he would put them on edge.

But he knew, from years of practice, he could usually manipulate just about anyone into doing what he wanted if he could annoy them enough.

One late night, shortly after his incarceration and starting on his twelfth out-of-tune rendition of “Dancing Queen”, the guard standing outside his cell had finally broken out of his staunch shell and rattled his nightstick against the bars threateningly. “Can it, freak, or I’ll come in there and teach you a lesson.” he’d said, and of course, Jerome had grinned back at him, batting his eyes maddeningly.

“Jealous of my talent?”

“I’m giving you one last chance to shut up.”

“Ooh, _scary._ Look at me, I’m shaking.” He’d rolled his eyes melodramatically, then started on the next verse of the song, casting a sly look at the unamused guard.

“I know it’s been a while since you’ve been here, Valeska, so let me spell it out for you. You make trouble, you get in trouble. It’s as simple as that.”

“Okay, I’m making trouble, now get in here and give it to me good!” Jerome had been practically shaking with anticipation. He didn’t expect to win in a fight with the man…the guard towered over him at well above six feet, and was built like a pile of bricks, but winning wasn’t on the roster for tonight…all the redhead wanted was a good time.

He watched in wide-eyed anticipation as the guard fumbled with the keyring looped to his belt, his jaw taut in exasperation, and swung open the cell door, slamming it behind him. Jerome bounced on the soles of his feet, barely restraining himself from clapping his hands. 

“Oh boy, now we’re gonna have some fun!” he giggled, right before the guard reached out and dragged him closer by the collar of his striped uniform, a well-aimed fist flying straight into the young inmate’s face. Jerome’s neck snapped back at the impact of the blow, and a delighted laugh slipped between his lips. 

“Good times, amiright?” he asked amiably, and the guard sneered, landing another punch on the other side of his face. Jerome didn’t bother to think about the stitches that were holding said face in position after its unfortunate removal by Dwight Pollard…so what if he had to get them fixed? It was worth it.

“Just quit it, Valeska.” the man grated out, and Jerome stuck his tongue out at him.

“I will if you give me a little kiss.” He reached out a hand to pat the man’s face, and the latter grabbed his wrist, twisting it painfully behind his back. Jerome laughed harder.

God, this was fun.

“Whassa matter, ya don’t like me?” he bantered, balancing on tiptoe as the significantly taller man pulled him even closer, a murderous glint in his eye. The Arkham guards were known for having killed inmates in the past, and Jerome shivered with suspense. Now _that_ would be something, a glorious irony. Here he was, a notorious killer, about to be killed by a man whose job was to obey the law. Oh, it was almost too funny.

Then he remembered he’d been planning on driving his brother insane someday, and a part of him hoped at least a little bit that the man wouldn’t completely murder him, not until he’d done that, at least. But it didn’t stop him from enjoying himself.

“This is what happens when you break the rules.” the guard was saying, and Jerome turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

“Knew I could count on you.” he laughed, and by the look on the man’s face, he might really have been killed where he stood if another guard hadn’t happened by that very moment. The one in the cell dropped the prisoner to the ground and stormed out of the cell, the lock clicking into place. Jerome scrambled dizzily to his feet, plastering himself against the door. 

“Gone so soon? We were just gettin’ started.” he complained, but the guard didn’t look at him, and even with all his cajoling and prompting, Jerome couldn’t get him to fight again after that night.

Still, there was plenty to amuse himself with in Arkham in the ensuing days and weeks and months, and he loved terrorizing new inmates who would look at him with a mixture of horror and awe when they saw him lounging in the rec room, intently watching everyone who passed by. And when he wasn’t doing that, he spent his time figuring out what he should do about his brother. Sometimes the very thought of Jeremiah made him want to strangle something, but since there was, more often than not, no willing strangulation victim to be had, Jerome contented himself with pacing back and forth in his cell, deep in thought on how he could find a way to make that annoying little pest see the truth that had always been right in front of his face.

They were twins, after all. The same in every regard. They’d always been identical, always done everything together, at least until Jeremiah…that _coward…_ had snuck away from the circus that night and disappeared. But of course Jerome had found him again, soon enough, with the help of that guy Galavan, and had been so sure he’d be able to show the other that he was just as crazy as his psychopathic brother. Jeremiah’s will had been stronger than he’d anticipated, which was something of a surprise…Jerome had expected that kidnapping alone would have warranted a breakdown from his twin…but it didn’t matter. There were plenty of other chances, and he wasn’t going to give up.

Sooner or later, Jeremiah would realize the truth.

He’d been delighted when his brother had come to see him, even if it had only been once. He’d asked about the “toxin,” and Jerome had almost danced around the cell with glee at that. For all his apparent genius and child prodigy talk, Jeremiah could be terribly stupid sometimes…admitting his own growing insanity to the one person who wanted to prove it, for instance. But Jerome wasn’t complaining. Jeremiah hadn’t been back to Arkham since then, and his twin’s resolve to put the metaphorical final nail in the coffin and bind him to the reality of his own madness only grew. 

But he couldn’t just throw together some hasty plan this time. 

This time, it had to be _perfect._

And when a new inmate, a strange kid with a thing for scarecrows (if his endless mumblings to himself indicated anything) was put in the cell next to his and immediately went to work concocting some sort of chemical mixture within the first week of being at Arkham, Jerome began to get an idea.

 

\+ + + + +

 

“Do you have a middle name?” Ecco was at her wit’s end, scowling at Jeremiah from the opposite end of the kitchen as he sketched a maze absentmindedly in the margins of his notebook.

"I don’t see what that has to do with anything, and no. My mother probably wouldn’t have even given me a first name if she had been just a degree more drunk like she was for the entirety of my childhood.” He tapped the eraser end of the pencil against the rims of his glasses. "Why on earth would you ask that?”

“Because I wanted to use your full name to emphasize just how irrational you’re being. You can’t seriously be so consumed with the thought of Mr. Wayne that it’s the only thing on your mind all day.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not the _only_ thing, I’ve also been working on my energy project, and that requires a _lot_ of thinking, thank you.”

“Well, you get my point. It’s been a full week, and you won’t stop asking if I’ll take you to go find him. Maybe you need to give him some space, you know? If he’s having fun with his friends, why should that bother you?”

“Because he’s _not_ having fun.” Jeremiah insisted. He had no evidence to back up that statement…he hadn’t heard from Bruce at all, and for all he knew, his friend could be having the time of his life. _But he can’t be. He can’t really be happy without you, can he? That doesn’t make sense._

_He said you’re his best friend, and it’s impossible to be happy if your best friend isn’t with you._

_You should know._

“Jeremiah, don’t take this the wrong way.” she began, although he was already prepared to do exactly that, “but don’t you feel sometimes that you might be…I don’t know, maybe a little too fixated on him?”

He narrowed his eyes at Ecco. Of course she would think that…she didn’t understand his connection with Bruce or how important it was. To both of them. They shared a bond that Jeremiah couldn’t describe but he _knew_ it was there. That was undeniable. Sometimes he began to suspect that the voice in his head might have been sort of right in that regard…he and Bruce both knew what it was like, having some kind of darkness inside, and they shared that understanding in a way no one else could. Not Ecco, not Selina, not anyone. 

Just them.

No one could even _hope_ to understand what they had.

“I’m only trying to make sure he’s all right.”

“And I’ve told you he is. Pennyworth’s keeping an eye on him, even if he doesn’t approve of what Mr. Wayne’s doing. He is perfectly safe, even if he _is_ buying half the clubs in the city and turning his friends into juvenile delinquents.”

Jeremiah knew that, of course. At this point, he wasn’t really worried for Bruce’s safety anymore. He knew Alfred would look out for him. But it was an easier excuse than telling Ecco how _empty_ the days felt, how pointless everything seemed when his friend wasn’t there. Bruce kept the voices at bay, he made him feel complete, and abandoning him for shallow, fickle friends he hadn’t seen in years was a blow to the heart. 

Ecco wouldn’t understand what that was like. She didn’t know Bruce like that.

“I told you, he’s changed. And it’s not for the better, no matter what anyone says. He’s not the _right_ Bruce anymore. And I…”

_I want him back._

He didn’t see the emotions that chased each other across his assistant’s face as she turned away. Confusion, disappointment, carefully shielded longing…by the time she looked back at him, her expression was clear again. Neutral. It was safest that way. “Well, if his own butler can’t convince him to come back home, then what good do you think you’ll do? I’d wait it out, if I were you, and try to take your mind off it.” She crossed the room, leaning against the table on her wrists and looking over his shoulder at his open notebook, filled with hastily scribbled formulas and compounds she couldn’t decipher, but knowing they meant something to him. With a heavy sigh, Jeremiah stood up. 

“I’ll try.” He didn’t want to take his mind off Bruce…it only felt like he was letting his friend down even more…but Ecco was insistent, and she was right. He didn’t know what else to do.

“Can I come see the project you’re working on?” she asked, suddenly sounding almost shy. Jeremiah shrugged.

“If you want. I don’t know if you’ll think it’s all that interesting…”

“I think everything you do is interesting.” She shut her mouth tightly after that admission, stealing a glance at his face to see what he thought of that, and Jeremiah looked surprised.

“Really?”

Ecco casually brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think it’s fascinating, the things you can do with your engineering skills. When I bring the Wayne Enterprises committee updated plans and ideas you have, they always go on and on about how ingenious they are. You’re highly admired there, you know.” Her eyes added the unspoken words she wanted to speak: the Wayne Enterprises committee weren’t the only ones who admired Jeremiah Valeska.

He didn’t seem to notice that part. “Oh.” He’d never even considered the possibility that they might genuinely respect his ideas…everyone on the board of directors was much older than him, much more experienced in virtually everything, and he’d never met even one of them in person. To him, they were just a faceless group who asked for occasional advice and plans, and he gave them because there was nothing else to do with his ideas. Ecco’s declaration was something of a shock, then, but not an unpleasant one. In fact, he almost felt proud. He’d always wanted to be known for something…even if he had to hide behind the old pseudonym Xander Wilde, and even if no one outside the committee would know that name, it was still something. 

He opened the workshop door and stepped inside, looking back to see if Ecco was still following him. She’d never asked about his projects before, although he’d caught her watching him work once or twice…it was likely just a ploy to get him to think about something other than Bruce, but he appreciated the thought. Despite all their arguments, he considered Ecco one of his closest friends (of course, he did only have three to begin with, including her) and confidante. Sure, she didn’t understand him sometimes, especially regarding Bruce, but that was to be expected. Jeremiah didn't even understand himself most of the time, how was his assistant supposed to?

“You know, you should let me clean in here once in a blue moon.” she suggested, looking around at the cluttered shelves and desk, and the walls with blueprints and plans pinned haphazardly here and there. Jeremiah set down his notebook on a teetering pile of others that balanced on the corner of the desktop.

“Everything is where it’s supposed to be.” he insisted. 

“Jeremiah, it’s a mess.”

“An _organized_ mess.” He almost tripped over a balled-up cluster of wire on the floor as soon as the words left his mouth, and Ecco shook her head at him, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

“Whatever you say. So, about your project. What does it do?”

His eyes lit up with excitement and, with a flourish, he uncovered what looked like a skeleton of an oversized battery that sat on the table, surrounded with tools and design outlines chicken-scratched onto pieces of paper. “It’s just a prototype right now, and it’s not finished yet. It’ll look nicer when I’ve decided on a final design and worked out some of the kinks.”

Ecco stepped closer, her shoulder brushing against his arm in what might not have been a complete accident. She tried to not look disheartened when he instinctively flinched and tried to remind herself that it wasn’t anything against her…it was a reaction born out of a lifetime of almost obsessive paranoia, and he was like that with everyone. 

Well, except Bruce, of course.

But Bruce was always the exception.

On his part, Jeremiah didn’t even seem aware of anything she was thinking, wholly absorbed in explaining his work. Ecco tried to listen…she had asked for him to show her, after all. The least she could do was be a good audience.

“The goal,” he was saying, patting the top of the shapeless battery creation fondly, as if it was a pet, “is to make it so it won’t have to be attached to an outside power source. Completely sustainable by itself, and clean, too. That’s what’ll make it different. The only output will be energy, formed from the air around it, no matter where it is.”

“So what does it do?” She felt dumb, asking what was probably an obvious question, but Jeremiah didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he even smiled at her, and Ecco tried to ignore the way her heart leapt happily in her chest.

She hadn’t _wanted_ to fall for her employer…it was so cliche, and anyway, weren’t office romances doomed to fail? Of course they were, if the recipient of her affection didn’t even notice it in the first place. 

_It’s just Bruce Wayne, day in and day out. No time for anyone else._

It was petty to be jealous of some kid, she knew. And Jeremiah clearly wasn’t expecting anything from her beyond the role of assistant…that was painfully obvious. But she couldn’t ignore her feelings, no matter what she told herself.

“Theoretically, you could use it to power whatever you want. It would be an extremely strong current, and if I got it to work right, it would only take a few to give sustainable energy to the entire city.” There was a note of importance in his tone that Ecco thought was endearing…he so rarely gave himself credit for anything that it was nice to see his self-esteem was at least existent. 

“That’s a lot of power.” was all she could say. 

“Yeah.” His mouth twisted to the side and he adjusted his glasses, clearing away some of the notes on the table. “That’s the problem.”

“Problem? It sounds like a good thing.”

“Well, it is, but here’s what worries me.” He tore down a intricate outline of the project that had been tacked to the wall and spread it out on the desk in front of her. “See that part there?” He pointed at something on the drawing, and Ecco nodded, not really paying as much attention to what he was showing her as she was looking at his profile silhouetted in the tinted fluorescent light of the workshop. 

“Uh huh.”

“Well, if it overheated, it could cause a reaction within the core of the battery, which would cause the entire structure to react as well.” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing to the other side of the desk. “And that could cause it to explode.”  
“You mean malfunction, or—?”

“No, I mean explode.” He demonstrated with an impatient gesture. “There would be a destruction radius of almost a third of a mile. It’s too powerful for its own good. If something went wrong with just one, if it short-circuited or overloaded, it would essentially turn into a time bomb, and imagine the damage _that_ could do.” He shook his head. “I can’t risk something like that.”

“But you can make it so it won’t do that.” she assured him. “I know you can.”

He looked past her at the contraption sitting on the table in the middle of the room. “Maybe.”

“I’m sure you will.” Ecco said determinedly. “It’s incredible that you even came up with this idea in the first place.” 

He brushed a nonexistent speck of dust off his shirt, clearly flustered at her praise. “Thanks.”

She told herself that she should just leave him alone…he clearly didn’t have the same feelings for her that she had for him, and all she would succeed in would be annoying him. But the stubborn side of her didn’t want to give up, even if she knew it wouldn’t amount to anything between them.

There was just something about him that intrigued her…something that perhaps even he didn’t see in himself. Ecco couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she caught snatches of it in his eyes when he was absorbed in working on his engineering projects, heard it in his voice when he was explaining something to her he cared about. It was a sort of intensity that drew her in, caught up her attention so fully that sometimes she wouldn’t even hear what he was saying. 

But even then, she only ever occasionally glimpsed that side of him. There was only one way she could be sure she would see that intensity come out, and only when he ever spoke of one person.

Frankly, Ecco was a little sick of hearing about Bruce Wayne.

She told herself if it made her employer happy to have a friend in the young billionaire, then she could at least try to reconcile herself to that fact. Even if she did feel a twinge of jealousy whenever Bruce was mentioned. But still, couldn’t he at least acknowledge her every once in a while? It was’t much to ask.

“Is the project something you’re going to propose to Wayne Enterprises?” she asked, breaking the silence between them. Jeremiah gathered up the blueprints he’d taken down from the wall and busied himself with hanging them back up.

“No. Not yet, anyway. I’d rather keep it to myself for now.”

“Until you work out the flaws?” 

He nodded. “I wouldn’t want it getting into the wrong hands.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but then, Jeremiah had always been overly cautious about that sort of thing. He never let her send drafts of his ideas to the committee at the Enterprise…it always had to be a carefully worked and reworked final copy that he’d honed to perfection, and somehow he always found time to send it in before the deadline. 

_Why_ did he have to be so good at everything he did? Couldn’t he at least be a _bit_ less appealing? Really, no one could blame her for wanting him to pay her at least a shred of attention. 

“Well, you’ve only been working on it for a few weeks. I’m sure if you give yourself time, you’ll be able to figure it out.”

He gave her another smile, more animated this time, and Ecco smiled back, savoring the rare moment with all her heart.

 

\+ + + + +

 

“Psst.” Jerome hissed conspiratorially through the bars that lined the lower wall of the cell, trying to get the attention of the dark figure on the other side. “Wake up, buttercup.”

The figure stirred on the narrow mattress, sitting up slowly and running a hand through shoulder-length matted hair as he started at Jerome with narrowed eyes. The latter grinned.

“How’s it hangin’?”

“Am I supposed to know you?” the other inmate asked dully, looking prepared to ignore Jerome again. 

“Well, I’d be surprised if you didn’t. But it’s okay, I’ll forgive ya.” He stuck an arm through the bars for a handshake, but the other inmate, who looked to be about his age, ignored it. 

“What do you want from me?”

“Well,” Jerome had been watching the kid for the past few weeks now, diligently observing his every action through the bars whenever they were in their cells, giving him his undivided interest in the rec room during the day. When he’d first arrived, he’d done little else but mumble about scarecrows and other unintelligible ramblings, and Jerome had lost interest quickly. But when he’d noticed the boy began swiping different chemical mixtures from around the asylum—sometimes cleaning supplies, sometimes medication from the other inmates, and some things Jerome wasn't even sure where he’d gotten them—he’d caught the redhead’s attention again. “not much, really. You seem like an interesting guy, and I could use a pal in this dump.” In reality, he got along fine by himself, but he didn’t mind lying to the kid. Not if his quickly growing plan was going to work.

“Thanks, but I’m not looking for a friend.” the boy said disdainfully. “And I’d appreciate it if you left me alone, —" He paused, not knowing what to call the energetic interloper.

“Jerome Valeska.” he supplied, suppressing a giggle as the other’s eyes widened in shock. “So you _have_ heard of me.”

“I didn’t know it was you. I’ve only ever heard your name.” He was looking a bit more wary now. Something in the way he talked reminded Jerome of his brother, and that, in turn, reminded him of why he was talking to this stranger in the first place. 

“Well, now that you know my name, it’s only fair I know yours.” Jerome grinned like a shark circling its prey, which didn’t go unnoticed by his companion.

“Jonathan Crane.” he said tautly.

“Pleased to meetcha, Jonny.” he said amiably, ignoring the way disapproval flashed across Jonathan’s face at the nickname. “Ain’t I lucky to have such a friendly guy right next to me?”

“Why are you talking to me?” Jonathan asked, casting a nervous glance at the door, where the guards patrolled outside. Jerome sighed dramatically. So _that_ was what reminded him of Jeremiah; this kid was always on edge, always glancing over his shoulder like someone was coming after him. Scared of his own shadow, it seemed. Just like his paranoid little brother…well, he’d fix that soon enough. For both of them, if he played his cards right.

And Jerome wasn’t planning on losing again.

“I told ya, it’d be nice to have a friend.”

“I’m not buying that.” He cast a glance at the bars, as if wondering if they would keep the nosy redhead safely out of his cell. “You want something else.”

“Aw, Jonny boy, I’m hurt.” He pouted exaggeratedly, and Jonathan rolled his eyes.

“My name—”

"But if you want the truth,” he interrupted, “I was thinking of a little plan.” He lowered his voice, looking up at Jonathan with a gleam in his dark eyes. “Just a shot in the dark, but I’m gonna guess you probably don’t want to be here?”

“Talking to you?” he asked snappily.

“In Arkham, doofus.”

“Of course I don’t.”

“Well,” Jerome said again, wrapping his hands around the bars and pressing his face against the rusty metal, “in that case, you might just wanna listen to me. I can’t promise anything soon, for reasons I’m not going to discuss,” Jonathan was listening now, a concentrated frown on his face, and Jerome knew he was evaluating the dangers of working together, “but I have a feelin’ if you stick with me, you might not be locked up in the funny farm for as long as they said you would.”

“You’re going to escape?” There was a note of eagerness in his voice now.

“Crane-o, weren’t you listening to anything I said? I’m not breaking out _yet._ Gotta plan first, y’know? I want to give all of Gotham a surprise they’ll never forget, but there’s more to it than that. But I’ll say this. Do what I tell you, and when this city falls, you won’t be watching it behind bars.” 

A slow smile spread across Jonathan’s serious face, and this time, he didn’t steal a glance at the door to see if any guards were watching. He stood up slowly, the narrow mattress and ancient bedsprings creaking in the silence between them.

“What do you want me to do?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have zero knowledge of engineering or anything like that, so if any explanation related to Jeremiah's generators is incorrect, sorry :P
> 
> R&R and let me know what you think of the chapter! :)


	18. Standing on the Edge

**Chapter Eighteen**

 

Jeremiah blinked at the bright neon lights that flashed from the front entrance of the nightclub he happened to be walking past…it was generally a self-imposed rule that he stayed away from any place that had too many people, but the nightlife in Gotham could make that a difficult task sometimes. So he had to compensate by staring stoically at the ground as he made his way down the cracked, narrow sidewalks of the city, keeping his face well hidden from anyone passing by. At this point, he was beginning to question why he’d even left the house tonight, as he had known perfectly well he’d have no choice but to be around people, but he already knew the answer to that. Sometimes, in the bunker, it got too quiet. The silence was too heavy. And sometimes that would make the voices in his head come out stronger than before, so much that Jeremiah began to believe they really were there, like he had in the beginning when he’d first begun to hear them.

And braving the crowds of Gotham in an attempt to get his mind off such things was worth it in comparison. Everything blurred into a sort of comforting background noise, enough that he could think about something other than the voices, other than the things that had been plaguing his thoughts for the past several weeks, and clear his head a bit. 

Not that it made being around people any more enjoyable.

And having colorful strobe lights blazing in his eyes from some lowbrow nightclub was definitely not making anything better.

He would have continued past the place if a voice hadn’t risen above the clamor and painfully loud music from inside, causing Jeremiah to stop short in the middle of the sidewalk and almost be run over by a burly man who was hurrying past him. The man mumbled an apology and Jeremiah nodded wordlessly back, straightening his glasses and listening intently for the voice again. Maybe it had just been his imagination, but no…he knew what he had heard…

“Drinks are on me!”

There it was again, and Jeremiah knew for certain he was right this time. How could he _not_ know that achingly familiar voice? He started toward the door, then stopped again, a sudden wave of apprehension sweeping over him. 

_You have no idea what's waiting on the other side of that door._

_What he’ll be like._

He’d clung desperately onto the fading hope that Bruce would somehow come back to him eventually…that maybe he would have a sudden realization that he couldn’t squander the rest of his life like this, and they could both rediscover who they used to be. Together. But as the weeks went by and his friend seemed to drift further and further away from him…the last time he’d spoken to Bruce was in the kitchen of Wayne Manor, when he and Selina had walked on him kissing his classmate from years before, and Jeremiah, inexperienced as he was with the concept of friendship in general, knew those weren’t the best terms to part on…how much had changed since then? It was Bruce’s voice, the same voice he’d known for years, that he’d heard coming from inside the nightclub, but it was just a voice.

It didn’t mean _he_ would be the same.

For a moment, Jeremiah contemplated turning back and continuing on his way as if nothing had happened. It would be easier that way. 

“That's a coward's way out if I ever head one.” the voice in his head sneered, completely intelligible even with the music and chatter and general noise that surrounded Jeremiah. He closed his eyes for a moment, and someone shoved him aside as a group of teenagers swarmed through the front door of the club. He stepped off to the side, in front of the picture window with a bright neon sign reading “Open 24 Hours” blinking its blinding lights in his face. Jeremiah drew his shoulders up nervously, feeling very claustrophobic all of a sudden, even while the crowd thinned out as the minutes ticked closer to midnight. The lights were giving him a headache and the music was obnoxiously loud and if he didn’t have an unidentifiable sort of urge to _do_ something rather than call Ecco and go back to the silence of his home, he would have done exactly that.

_What_ do _you want to do?_

That was the part he couldn’t figure out. He only knew that recently he’d felt restless, as if he’d been waiting for something but forgotten what. It wasn’t that he wanted things to be _different,_ (although, of course, anything to amend the entire situation with Bruce would have been quickly welcomed) but more of the feeling that he was waiting on the edge, waiting for something to happen although he had no idea what that was supposed to be. Perhaps because things had become too quiet in the past months…almost as if everything was coming to a standstill before falling apart. Like the calm before the storm. 

“Before _things_ fall apart.” the voice echoed his thoughts mockingly. “Before _you_ fall apart, I think you mean. You know it’ll happen. Your mind is on the brink of collapse. It’s just a matter of time, and that time is drawing closer and closer.”

_Very helpful._ he thought sardonically, wincing as the light stabbed at his eyes from the sign in the window. _I don’t suppose you have a solution to offer?_

“Of course I do.” it said smugly. “But you wouldn’t want to hear it.”

Not wanting to get caught up with a voice in his head in the middle of a bustling Gotham city street, Jeremiah straightened up and pushed open the door to the nightclub, hoping the decision would distract him from his thoughts. And besides, he _had_ heard Bruce’s voice. Nerves or not, he couldn’t just walk away from his friend now. Not when they were so close.

The lights were even worse inside, flashing wildly around at random intervals to break through the darkness, and Jeremiah folded his arms, feeling horrifically out of place. He’d never set foot in a club before in his life…even back at the circus, when he and Jerome would follow their mother into whatever city they were traveling through and watched her hunt down the sleaziest and cheapest bar she could find, he’d never actually gone in. Jerome had, of course, and usually was promptly tossed out if there was a manager who actually cared whether or not an underage kid was sneaking into his place, but Jeremiah, who hated cramped quarters and loud nosies, had always avoided them like the plague. 

Still, if it meant he could find Bruce…

His heart skipped a beat in his chest when he caught a glimpse of his friend across the room, seated at a table and surrounded by a group of teens his age. Jeremiah stared, shocked at how _alien_ Bruce seemed. He had both arms slung around two different girls—he recognized one of them as the one his friend had kissed at the fundraiser hosted at the manor—and was laughing loudly as he poured a glass of whatever he was drinking and downed it in one gulp.

He was smiling, but he didn’t look happy.

Even from far away, Jeremiah could see that. His friend’s dark eyes, wandering errantly around the room without really stopping for focus on anything, were hollow and lifeless. The Bruce he was looking at wasn’t the Bruce he knew.

He wasn’t the same person who had reassured him day in and day out, three years ago, that Jerome would never find him and would never hurt him, no matter what, until Jeremiah almost believed him. He wasn’t the same person who, even after Jerome _did_ find his twin, didn’t give up on him, but instead found some impossible way to get him back alive, and had been willing to give up whatever it took to do that. He wasn’t the person who had given Jeremiah a job at his own company because he insisted he saw potential in his friend even if Jeremiah wasn’t so sure of that himself…he wasn’t any of those things. 

_Bruce, you’re not who you’re supposed to be._

As if he had heard Jeremiah’s own thoughts, Bruce looked up, his head lolling to the side, and made eye contact with the redhead staring at him through the crowd that milled around on the floor between them. For a moment, Jeremiah thought everything had gone silent and still, but no, that was just his senses shutting down as his attention became entirely focused on his friend. 

Because nothing else mattered.

But Bruce’s expression, although he was staring straight at him, didn’t change. Not even a flicker of recognition lit his dull eyes that were masked behind that smile he wore. Not a single attempt to say anything, useless as that would have been with the music and mingled voices bearing down on all sides. 

Jeremiah couldn’t stand to see him like that anymore. 

Because that Bruce didn’t care.

He turned and all but ran out the door, not caring how many people he stumbled against as he kept his eyes fixed on the floor (even now, he couldn’t let anyone see his face…the shock of the moment wasn’t enough to make him forget his constant paranoia over being mistaken for his brother) and it wasn’t until he was out in the bitingly cold air of late autumn that he allowed himself to breathe again.

Every breath felt like fire in his lungs and he wished he’d never left the bunker tonight.

Bruce was supposed to be the one who helped keep the voices away, but he couldn’t even count on him for _that_ anymore.

“Speaking of things falling apart.” the voice spoke up again, and Jeremiah could almost see the smug smile on its face, if it had one ( _Your face, because it’s you, and now there’s nothing between the both of you because Bruce doesn’t care anymore, there’s nothing stopping it from taking over and destroying everything)._

“What do you mean?” he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking and hurrying off, away from the nightclub and from everything he’d just seen. He didn’t really want to know what the voice was talking about, but he didn’t want to think about Bruce, either, and if this was the only distraction, then fine.

_You’re going around in circles. First you wanted to find Bruce to keep the voice away, and now look how it’s ended up._

_That could be funny, if it wasn’t about you._

But it _was_ about him, and there was nothing funny about it.

“Must I really make myself clearer?” the voice sighed. “Really, sometimes it feels like you never listen to me.”

“Yeah, no shit.” he scoffed, shooting a nervous glance at the couple walking past him and hoping they didn’t hear him talking to himself like this. That was all he needed…random strangers thinking he was crazy. This night was just getting better and better.

“I meant you.” it continued, unruffled by his sarcastic response. “You and him. You’re both falling apart in your own ways. Funny, that. In a way, you’re still alike. Breaking down, and who knows what will come of it?”

“Nothing good.” Jeremiah said morosely. 

“Are you so sure about that?”

“Just go ahead and say what you’re thinking. Quit asking me questions to build up the suspense or whatever. It’s not funny.”

“Jeremiah, you’re an architect. You know this better than anyone. Take an example, if you want…you helped create Wayne Plaza. One of Gotham’s most admired buildings. You also know there was an old, ugly, worn-out apartment complex right where the builders wanted to put the place. And what did they do?”

“Tore it down.” he mumbled, turning up the collar of his coat. His head was still aching from the lights back at the club, and his glasses kept fogging up from the wind. He was completely miserable, and if he’d been thinking clearly, he would have called Ecco to come find him long ago, but right now, the voice was distracting him.

“Exactly!” A spark of triumphant laughter tinged the edges of the word. “And now look. Everyone knows Wanye Plaza. They’ve forgotten all about that sad, useless pile of rubbish that used to be there. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

Jeremiah rolled his eyes. “First of all, that’s not even remotely related to—” He broke off at the sound of someone landing lightly on the ground behind him, and his steps slowed. A familiar voice spoke over his shoulder.

“Am I hallucinating, or did you actually leave your house?”

He stopped, and the voice in his head stopped too, at least for now. “Selina?”

She stepped up alongside him, one hand resting on a whip that was furled at her hip. Jeremiah raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged. “What? It’s a new look.”

“It’s a bit much.” He was unbelievably relieved to see Selina here…she hadn’t been around lately, probably consumed in her own ways of forgetting Bruce’s snub, just as he had been…and besides, Jeremiah hadn’t been able to quench that bitter feeling that was sort of like jealousy that welled up whenever he thought about the two of them.

Some days, it almost made him angry.

But Selina _was_ still his friend, he told himself, and when his already small supply of friends was dwindling, he couldn’t afford to push her away. Besides, it wasn’t her fault that Bruce liked her. And anyway, why _did_ he envy her? Just because she had a connection with Bruce too didn’t mean she’d _try_ to steal him away.

At least, that was what he told himself when the jealousy got a little too sharp and the voice started whispering things to him that he didn’t want to hear.

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” Selina asked, kicking a splintered shard of metal on the sidewalk as they stepped aside for people passing by. Jeremiah automatically turned away from them so they couldn’t see his face.

“I don’t really know. I guess I wanted to get out. It’s hard to think sometimes, when it gets too quiet.”

“Did I just hear Jeremiah Valeska himself say the words ‘too quiet?’” Selina shook her head. “Yep, I’m hallucinating.”

“Better than—” he began, then broke off abruptly. He’d been going to say, “Better than listening to the voices all day,” but _that_ would bring up an entirely new line of conversation, and not one he wanted to discuss today. He knew Selina was at least partly aware of the voices in his head…he’d spoken vaguely about it to her once the time she’d come into his workshop without his noticing, but she certainly didn’t know just how far it had gone.

No one knew that but Jeremiah.

Not even Bruce.

“I guess you’ve been working a lot?” Selina asked, absently tapping her fingers against the whip at her side. Jeremiah could hear the double meaning in her words.

_How have you been distracting yourself from what’s happened to our friend?_

He scuffed his foot against the ground, listening to police sirens wailing in the distance. A cold wind blew past them, sending pieces of trash that littered the streets pinwheeling down the sidewalk. “I started a new project.” he said, risking a glance back at the nightclub despite himself. Selina didn’t even know Bruce was there. He wondered what her reaction would be to _that._

“Huh.” she nodded absently, watching the clusters of Gothamites pass by in dark, shapeless masses. Jeremiah took off his glasses and cleaned them on the sleeve of his coat.

“What have you been doing?”

She shrugged again, and if he’d been looking at her, he would have seen a flash of what was almost guilt cross her face. “Just working. I’ve made a…made some friends. Gotta make connections, you know?” The smile she gave him was almost stiff, careful. Like she felt she had said too much. Jeremiah looked over at her.

“Well, that sounds cryptic.”

She didn’t smile at that. “I didn’t mean for it to.”

“What sort of friends?” He leaned up against the wall of the building they were standing next to with one shoulder, staring down at the rainwater from a storm the day before as it sluggishly dripped from the gutter. Selina shifted uneasily.

“Oh, just…no one really. She…they’re teaching me how to fight. And stuff.”

“Did they give you that whip?” he asked, pointing to the weapon holstered at her side. Selina swallowed.

“It’s more of a temporary thing. Borrowed.” She chanced a look at him, wishing she’d never brought this up. It would be impossible to explain that the person who had given her the whip—and had been her closest friend in the past month ever since Bruce had switched to his new life—was Tabitha Galavan, the sister of the man who had caused practically all of Jeremiah’s paranoia and bad memories ever since Selina had known him. She wasn’t sure how involved Tabitha had been in the entire plot surrounding Jeremiah and Bruce those three long years ago, but the sole fact that she had been undoubtedly in arms with her brother was enough to keep Selina from mentioning the little detail of her new friend’s identity.

Jeremiah looked at her a bit uncertainly, sensing something more to her words than she was letting on, but he didn’t say anything further. Selina stifled a relieved sigh. She’d admittedly felt somewhat traitorous when she’d met Tabitha the first time, but the woman _had_ been nice to her, and _had_ saved her from a few dangerous situations, to say the least, and Selina tried to justify their friendship by telling herself it wasn’t as if working with Tabitha would affect Jeremiah in any way…he barely even left his underground bunker, and the odds that he’d cross paths with the sister of the man who had kidnapped him years ago were incredibly slim.

So she said nothing about it. 

“Well, I’ve got things to do.” she said casually as the silence began to stretch longer between them. “Catch you later, Miah.” She gave him a playful jab to the shoulder, then bounded up to the fire escape overhead and disappeared without a sound.

Jeremiah watched her leave, then turned to go. There wasn’t any point in being here anymore…Bruce clearly wasn’t going to reciprocate his efforts to see him, and all he would succeed in doing out here was making himself more miserable. If he was going to do that, it could at least be from the comfort of his own home.

Before he got far, however, there was a sound of someone running behind him, out of breath as if they’d been trying to catch up with him for a while. Jeremiah didn’t turn back, but then someone laid a hand on his shoulder and spun him around, and he came face to face with the person he was least expecting. He sucked in a breath and stared, unbelieving.

“Bruce?”

_So he did see you, he noticed you, you never should have doubted him._

“Hi.” Bruce managed to pant out, dashing the back of his sleeve across his face. “Um. I…” He gestured vaguely over his shoulder. “I saw you back there.” His voice was raspy, as if he'd been talking too much, and Jeremiah noticed he was still holding a half-drained glass of something that was, most likely, extremely alcoholic. He frowned, beginning to back away.

Bruce had noticed him, but he still didn’t seem right. The eyes he was staring into weren’t familiar anymore. 

And that was almost worse than if his friend had outright ignored him.

“I saw you too.” Jeremiah said uselessly as he fiddled with the ends of his sleeves. 

“I haven’t seen you in awhile, Miah.” There was a pause before Bruce said his name, and Jeremiah flinched. He hadn’t _forgotten_ it, had he? 

“Yeah, well, you’ve clearly been busy.” He cast a cold look at the young billionaire, hiding the pained conflict in his eyes. “With all your friends.” It was impossible to say that without bitterness, and Bruce noticed.

“You could’ve joined us if you’d wanted.” He raised an eyebrow critically, as if blaming Jeremiah for not having thought of that.

“Not really my cup of tea.” the redhead replied, crossing his arms. “But thank you for the offer.”

It felt so _wrong,_ whatever was happening between them. There was a defensive sort of hostility radiating off of Bruce, a silent dare for Jeremiah to criticize him, and the latter knew it. He didn’t want to make his friend angry, but the jealousy he’d tried to repress was back, and he wasn’t thinking before the words came out.

“And besides, I’m sure I’m not as interesting of company as _they_ are.” He didn’t even bother concealing the resentment in his face anymore. Bruce didn’t know…couldn’t know…the turmoil he’d caused, he would never realize that he was what kept the voices from taking control in Jeremiah’s head. But even if he was completely unaware of just how important he was, that didn’t erase the fact that he had abandoned his best friend for the unruly crowd he was now with.

Jeremiah clearly wasn’t good enough for him anymore.

“You probably need to get back to them, anyway.” He nodded at the nightclub in the distance. Everything in him was crying out, _Don’t let him go, don’t let him get away from you, you’ve waited so long to see him again, and you’re just going to push him away?_ He knew Bruce didn’t _want_ to be with those people. He wasn’t happy there…it was evident in his face. But Jeremiah knew his friend wasn’t here to talk about returning to his old life. That was hoping for too much. 

And he had learned hope was a very dangerous thing.

“They can wait.” Bruce waved the thought away, and Jeremiah almost smiled before remembering he was supposed to be upset. He _was_ upset, he didn’t have to pretend, but everything was in conflict all of a sudden. He realized just how much, how deeply he’d missed Bruce, and even if the other boy was just going to forget about him all over again, he couldn’t help but savor the moment they had together.

“Why’d you follow me?” he asked slowly, and Bruce shrugged, looking just as confused.

“I…don’t know.” Absentmindedly, he took a swig from the glass he was holding. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

_He still cares, he…_

_Does he really still care?_

_Does he mean any of this?_

“I’m fine.” His voice was quiet, betraying the lie in those few words. Bruce didn’t seem to notice, or maybe it didn’t matter to him.

_What have you become, Bruce?_

_What have we both become?_

“Good.” He finished off the drink and gave the redhead a lopsided smile. It looked empty, as if there wasn’t really a person standing there, just an empty shell going through the motions of living. There was a pause between them, and for the briefest of moments, Jeremiah caught a glimpse of the old Bruce breaking through the practiced mask his friend had taken on. 

_You're still there, please don’t go, I need you, everyone needs you to come back…_

“Well, I’ve got a tab to pick up.” He turned on his heel a little unsteadily, and Jeremiah wanted to reach out, to keep him away from those people, to make him see he needed to become Bruce Wayne again, but he didn’t move.

“I’ll see you around, Jeremiah.” Bruce called tipsily over his shoulder, nearly tripping on his own feet, and the other boy winced at the sound of his own name uttered so loud in such a public place. It wasn’t as if anyone would know enough to associate a simple first name with Jerome, but it was instinct at this point to want to hide. 

He watched his friend stumble back into the club, to be greeted with cheers from his seemingly endless supply of friends, then Jeremiah turned away. _And don’t look back this time._

_You can’t keep looking back._

“Perhaps you’ll understand my meaning a bit more clearly now.” the voice in his head said quietly. “Now that you’ve seen it for yourself.”

Jeremiah grimaced. “Do you really need to find a hidden meaning in everything?”

“You and Bruce Wayne, you’re both breaking apart. Together, but in different ways. Soon enough, you’ll both be people you yourselves won’t even recognize. Look at it as a fresh start.”

“I only wanted things to stay the same.” His chest constricted with the heavy weight of despondency. “Is that really too much to ask?”

“Just let go, Jeremiah.” it murmured impatiently. “What you _wanted_ doesn’t matter, because it isn’t going to happen. The sooner you realize it, the sooner you can be free.”

He wanted to have some sort of clever retort to that, something that would make the voice shut up for an hour or two, but his mind was already occupied with Bruce, and he couldn’t gather up the motivation to say anything worthwhile. So he listened to the voice without argument, and despite himself, despite everything he had so rigorously and determinedly forced himself to believe, he started to realize something he wished he hadn’t.

The voice was beginning to make sense.

 

\+ + + + + + +

 

Jerome folded the playing card he was holding into in half, tapping the edges against the metal surface of the table that sat on the far end of the Arkham Asylum dining hall. The place was bustling with inmates all around him, sounds of shouting matches and fights filling the air at random intervals. He rolled his eyes as some clumsy idiot he didn’t recognize knocked into the back of the chair he was perched in, then turned back to the boy who was sitting across from him, dark hair falling over his heavy-lidded eyes.

“Just a formula.” Dropping his voice below the level of sound that filled the place, he glanced casually around to make sure they weren’t being watched by a guard. “Don’t get all excited on me and actually make the stuff, we’ll have nowhere to store it. I just want ya to scratch up a few little ingredients, and once we’re outta here, then you can have some fun.”

Jonathan stared down at the endless sketches of scarecrows he was drawing on the paper napkin in front of him, and Jerome snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Hello? Anyone home?” His voice shot up impatiently before he lowered it again. “It’s important, Jonnycake.”

“Jerome,” the other boy gritted, finally looking up at him, “would it be _that_ much trouble to call me by my real name for _once?_ ”

The redhead considered it for a moment, picking at the scar on his face where the stitches that held it in place had been. “Nah, I don’t think so. It’s more fun my way. Anywho,” he leaned forward on his elbows, an urgent gleam in his eyes, “I need you following orders. I heard the guards talkin' about how they’re moving one of us to another cell…apparently we’re getting too chummy for their tastes, and they’re suspecting we’re tryin’ to work together…so you’ll hafta find a way to get that formula to me.”

“And then what?” Jonathan looked unimpressed. Jerome tapped the side of his head. 

“Still brewing in the old noggin. The plan, I mean. But dontcha worry your shaggy little head, I’ll figure something out. I’ve always got a trick or two up my sleeve.” To demonstrate, he pulled the playing card he’d been fidgeting with out of the sleeve of his Arkham uniform with a flourish, dangling it in front of Jonathan’s nose. The other boy squinted at it.  
“The joker. How fitting.” he deadpanned. Jerome batted his eyes at him.

“What, because I’m so funny?”

“Because you’re a fool.” He stood up, the chair legs scraping against the concrete floor, and disappeared into the sea of striped jumpsuits. Jerome watched him go.

“I’m your ticket outta here, Jonny boy. You’d better remember that.” 

He sat in silence for a long minute, his dark eyes flickering over the faces of the inmates surrounding him, and his gaze caught onto a new, but familiar one. His scarred lips split into a grin, and he got up slowly, unfolding the card and smoothing out the creases as a new thought came to his mind.

“Well, well, well.” he muttered to himself, strolling across the room and watching as the inmate sat down, pompously rearranging the dish of jello on the lunch tray he was holding. “Wouldn’t hurt to add the king of the underworld to the mix, would it now? We could always use more firepower."

Without warning, he flung the playing card at the inmate, watching as the man’s eyes latched onto it, then traveled up to meet his face. Jerome strode over, locking eyes with him, a critical expression on his face. For Gotham’s self-proclaimed crime king, the guy didn’t look so intimidating. Kind of funny, actually, with that hooked nose. No wonder they called him a penguin. And from the look in his eyes, he seemed almost scared to be in Arkham.

Jerome laughed to himself. Piece of cake. This was going to be easier than he thought.

He grinned wider at the man, one hand latching onto the back of the chair across from him as the other snatched up the card and pocketed it back into his sleeve. 

He’d made his entrance, now it was time to have some fun.

“Is this seat taken?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts, criticisms, anything else! Comments are what keep me writing this fic hehe


	19. Switchback

**Chapter Nineteen**

 

“Have you heard about Arkham?” Ecco asked offhand as she collected the stray pieces of notebook paper and blueprints that had been left lying around the living room floor. Jeremiah, who was slouched in the armchair in the corner, flipping through a stack of loose-leaf design plans with a thoughtful scowl on his face, nearly dropped them at the mention of the asylum. Fumbling with the papers until he’d shuffled them back in order again, he looked up at his assistant.

“Arkham?” he repeated, hoping he had heard her wrong. Any mention of the place brought back unwanted memories of Jerome, along with the ever-present fear that his brother had found some way to deceive the guards and gotten out. Jeremiah knew without the slightest bit of doubt that if his twin ever did escape, he would be his first target. Jerome was unfailingly stubborn, and if he hadn’t driven Jeremiah insane yet—the only coherent plan he’d ever managed to come up with—then it would certainly be on his list of priorities. 

Ecco noticed the anxiety shining in her employer’s eyes and hastened to explain, “It’s not that anything’s gone wrong. Actually the opposite of that. They’re just increasing security measures after there was some talk about an escape plan.”

Jeremiah set down the papers he was holding, not trusting his hands to remain steady. And he didn’t want Ecco to see how nervous he was. “What do you mean, an escape plan?"

She shrugged. “It was on the news. Just a quick little talking point, I only paid attention because I know your…” she trailed off awkwardly, chancing a look over at him.

“My brother’s in there.” he finished for her, his voice monotone. 

“Yes. But it wasn’t really anything all that exciting. And besides, it was just a rumor, according to the news.”

“But what _was_ the rumor?” 

“Oh, there was just an inmate who apparently told one of the guards about a plan he’d overheard, and they didn’t want to be too careful, you know? Just because crime rates have been up so much lately, and the Penguin’s in Arkham, so the gangs are all going a little berserk.” She frowned. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it…” 

Jeremiah shook his head. “It’s fine.” It didn’t feel fine, it felt like there was more to the story and that he had plenty to worry about, but he was used to his personal fears getting in the way of his rationality by now, and tried to brush it off as the usual paranoia. _Not everything has to do with Jerome. Or you. This might have been completely unrelated. And besides, nothing happened._

_Nothing is going to happen_

“It’s not fine.” Ecco said remorsefully. “I don’t know why I brought it up…I should have thought before I said anything. Especially knowing you—”

“I already said it was, all right?” he snapped, irritated on how she was harping on the subject. _If she wants to drop it, then she should stop talking already._ Seeing the look on Ecco’s face, his own expression softened. “I’m sorry. I just…worry, sometimes.”

“I know.” she said quietly, almost to herself, and Jeremiah felt a flash of gratitude for her unfailing devotion. “But you don’t have to. Your brother isn’t going to get out, and he isn’t going to find you.”

He shifted nervously, wanting to believe it but knowing he never would. Never _could,_ more like, as long as Jerome was alive. And even if he wasn’t, that didn’t mean anything anymore. He’d already come back once before, it wasn’t like death could stop him for long.

_Nothing stops Jerome from getting what he wants._

“No one mentioned what inmates were trying to escape?” he asked cautiously. Ecco shook her head.

“They didn’t say anything about that. Didn’t mention whoever tattled to the guards, either. But it doesn’t matter who they were. Because Arkham won’t let them escape.”

“Sure, _that’s_ stopped criminals before.” he said sarcastically, thinking back to every report he’d seen on television mentioning another prison breakout in the past year, each one sparking renewed fear that his twin would be named as one of the escapees. “They’re incompetent idiots at that asylum, and it won’t take much for a security breach. Everyone knows that.”  
“Well, think about it this way.” Ecco tried to reassure him. “If you’re worried about… _him_ getting out,” she faltered at saying Jerome’s name aloud and finally settled for a simple pronoun, “you shouldn’t be. He doesn’t strike me as the type to sit around in an asylum if he _could_ escape. If he had the chance before now, he would have taken it. That must mean the security’s good enough to keep him in.”

Jeremiah smiled tightly, not encouraged at all. “Or it means he’s planning something.”

“What do you mean?”

He stood up, brushing past her and collecting the blueprints and papers on the way, sweeping them into his arms. “I think you’re forgetting this is the same person who _came back to life_ after I…after he was killed.” He nudged open the door with his shoulder, his hands full. “And you think a prison cell would keep him from getting what he wants?”

“Jeremiah, just because—”

“I know my brother.” he turned around sharply to face her, eyes filled with torment at having to admit such a thing. “I know how he thinks, and I know what he wants. He’s not sitting in Arkham because he can’t get out. He’s there because he wants to be.” Turning his back on her, he opened the workshop door and deposited the papers he was holding onto a side table. “He could escape whenever he wants.”

“But he hasn’t.”

“Because he’s _waiting!”_ he almost shouted at her, running a hand through his hair agitatedly. “He’s learned his lesson with the whole power-outage circus situation he did when he first came back. He’s learned that he has to plan, he has to prepare, and that’s exactly what he’s doing. I don’t know why that’s so hard to understand.”

“All I’m saying is that maybe you’re getting yourself worked up for nothing.” Ecco tried almost desperately. She hated seeing Jeremiah like this…he could be so self-assured sometimes when he forgot about his brother and the memories she knew plagued him day and night…when that facade of confidence slipped and she glimpsed the broken person beneath, she remembered who he really was.

He was still just a kid trying to run from his past. And somehow, Ecco wasn’t sure if he’d ever let himself be more than that. It wasn’t like she could just tell him to change, to reinvent himself and become someone new…but she could see the potential he was ignoring, and it was painful to watch.

She’d always told him she believed he could do whatever he wanted, and that was true, but only if he let himself. 

If only he broke out of that person he’d always been, became something  _more._

_That_ was who she had faith in.

“It’s not for nothing.” Jeremiah retorted, checking each monitor on the wall as he did every time he was in the workshop. It wasn’t as if he would see anything out of the ordinary in the nondescript halls that wound their way underground…it was next to impossible to actually get in the bunker in the first place…but he looked anyway. Just to assure himself that no one could find him here unless he wanted them to.

_Unless you want them to…_

His hand stilled on the keyboard used to control the monitor feeds as the tiniest piece of inspiration crept into his mind.

_ Unless you want them here. _

_No. No no no, you can’t even begin to think something like that._

_Are you_ trying _to get yourself killed?_ _That’s idiotic and it wouldn’t work. Don’t ever think about that ag—_

“Jeremiah, just think about it for a second.” Ecco interrupted his thoughts and he clicked the monitors off with an unsteady hand. “It’s not as if there would be anywhere more secure than Arkham for him anyway. It’s a place designed to keep prisoners locked away."

_Designed…_

_Designed to keep them locked away…_

_If you designed…_

_Arkham doesn’t keep them locked away, Arkham’s not good enough._

_It has to be something better._

“So you see, Jerome won’t get out.”

_You could make something better._

_No, stop, it’s not your responsibility, it’s not your choice to make. And besides, you could never succeed. It’s a death warrant._

He brushed a speck of dust off a monitor screen, trying to listen to what Ecco was saying and drown out his own thoughts.

“You have nothing to worry about.”

_Yes, nothing to worry about if you know he’s safely locked away. If you can see for yourself, if you know he’ll never get out…_

Slowly, he turned on one of the computer screens again, staring thoughtfully at the blank concrete hallway on the far end of the underground maze.

_If you were the one to…_

“Would that work?” he mumbled to himself. Ecco looked over at him.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.” he said sharply, almost guiltily. But he didn’t stop looking at the wall. The wheels in his head were turning, sketching out a plan before his eyes before he could stop them.

_Carve a room out on that wall, you can keep an eye on it all the time, you can make sure no one can ever open it, no one but you…_

_You could be in control._

_You can be._

“Well,” Ecco said uncertainly, not wanting to leave Jeremiah alone when he was clearly so distraught over the Arkham news, but knowing he didn’t want her hanging around him all day, “I guess I’d better go.”

_You won’t have to worry, because you’ll be the one making the decisions. You’ll make the rules. And you can do better than Arkham can. Did their architects design one of Gotham’s biggest landmarks? And do they work for the city’s most prestigious company?_

_You’re better than all of them._

He chewed his lower lip, torn. It would take planning, work, and a ridiculous amount of luck if this were to actually happen, if he were to…

He still couldn’t bring himself to think it.

_You’re spent your life hiding from him, trying to get as far away as possible from him, and now you want to bring him here? You want to bring him to you? What if that’s what he wants, too? What if he turns the tables and ends up killing you or…or driving you insane like him?_

He glanced down at the scar on his arm, memories of three years ago flashing through his mind like an out-of-control camera roll. _But look what happened then._

_He thought he would win that time._

_And you’re still as sane as you ever were. No matter what those voices tell you._

Jerome had _failed._ He still hadn’t proved his point to his twin…not really, anyway. He’d come close, Jeremiah was willing to admit that. With the fake toxin, and the way he’d thought the voices might have been a sign that he was losing his mind…but that hadn’t been true, had it? Maybe the voices hadn’t gone away, but still, he wasn’t insane. He’d know if he was, wouldn’t he? The voices were just that: voices. Nothing he needed to worry about, although he still did. But that was just how he was. He worried about everything.

He was't going insane.

So Jerome really had failed. 

_He’s never won. Not in the way he’s wanted, at least._

_It’s always been you._

_And you can do it again. You have to do it again, or you’ll just sit around worrying that he’ll find you until that’s all you become._

_You deserve more than living in Jerome’s shadow._

Something in his thoughts reminded him of the voice in his head. Something about the way they sounded, something about the things they were saying. But he didn’t think about that now…his idea was beginning to take shape, and although the very idea made him nearly dizzy with fear, there wasn’t any other reasonable option.

_And you are very reasonable._

_That’s an indicator of sanity, isn’t it?_

It _was,_ because he was sane. And he always would be. Jerome wouldn’t have a chance to persuade him to his side, because Jerome would be locked up. Securely, safely, without any chance of escape.

And it wouldn’t be in Arkham, either.

“Ecco,” Jeremiah said quietly, a flutter of nerves running through him when his voice sounded a little bit like the one in his head for a moment _(but it isn’t, because that voice is cruel, and it’s evil, and it’s dark, and you aren’t those things, that’s not you),_ “what are the chances that we could hire someone to add on an extra room in this place?”

His voice sounded like his own again, of course it did, because it always had, and because he wasn’t _that_ voice, the one in his head. He wasn’t anything like it.

This wasn’t cruelty, what he was doing.

It was necessity.

 

\+ + + + + + 

 

Bruce stared up at the ceiling from where he was sprawled out on the bed, his heavy-lidded eyes flickering tiredly around the room he hadn’t been in for a long time. He didn’t remember how he’d ended up in the guest bedroom…but then, he didn’t remember anything that had happened last night, which was becoming a bit of a typical thing for him. He craned his neck to see if anyone else was in the room, and sighed in relief when there was no one.

After days upon days of being surrounded with friends, it was kind of nice to be alone for once. 

Wayne Manor had begun to feel like a stranger’s house to him. The family pictures on the wall weren’t so familiar anymore…sometimes Bruce found himself wondering who those people were who stared down with vaguely recognizable eyes from the portraits that lined the hallways. 

_Your parents,_ he would remind himself when he forgot, then he would brush away the memories, along with the sting of guilt that he _had_ forgotten in the first place. Why should he think about his parents? That only brought back images of more tragedy in his life, and hadn’t Bruce had enough of that? He didn’t deserve to think about it any more than he needed to.

The midmorning light broke through the clouds outside and streamed in through the window, and Bruce groaned, pulling the pillow over his head, which was aching from all the drinking he’d done last night. He wished he was in his own room, but there was no chance of him getting up, so this would have to do. Through the haze that was his brain at the moment, he half-remembered being in here at some point in time, in this very room…it hadn’t been so long ago, had it?

The ghost of a memory floated through his mind, whispered voices that scratched and skipped like a broken record, familiar, but so alien at the same time.

Forgotten.

_“Can’t sleep?”_

_“I guess I’m not tired.”_

_“It’s him, isn’t it.”_

A pause, and then a sigh. Exhausted, defeated. 

Just like he felt right now.

_“I can’t stop thinking about him. Feeling like he’s coming back.”_

Bruce opened his eyes blearily, still buried under the pillow. He had seen Jeremiah in the city just a few nights before, hadn’t he? Yes, that was right…he’d even remembered to chase after him to say a few words. He wasn’t sure why…his friend had looked at him with so much disappointment that Bruce had nearly apologized (for what, he didn’t even know). But suddenly, he found himself missing Jeremiah. Missing when their friendship had been the one constant in his life, the only thing he knew he could always rely on.

And suddenly, he felt very lonely.

He could forget the agonizing guilt he’d been drowned in after what had happened with Ra’s al Ghul and the people who had been murdered if he tried hard enough and got drunk enough, but it didn’t make him happy. Only neutralized the shame for a little while. The feeling that he had let everyone down.

_You weren’t good enough._

_Not strong enough._

_You didn’t have enough power to stop him._

No amount of distraction could push that thought from his mind completely. And when he was alone, it crashed back in full force. 

It was unbearable, lying there in the dark and reliving his own guilt that was still just a fresh as if it had all happened yesterday. Bruce sat up slowly, pushing the pillow away and rubbing his eyes. He could call Brant and Tommy and invite them over again, but Alfred was probably mad enough as it was, having to clean up after whatever had happened last night (even with no memory of any of it, Bruce knew the house was probably not in good shape) and somehow he didn’t think that could compensate for the sudden, crushing loneliness that was bearing down on him.

He couldn’t sit here much longer, or he might be tempted to give up living like this for good. And right now, this was his only shield against his own mind. He couldn’t risk pushing it all away because of some stupid emotions. Rolling off the bed, he halfheartedly tried to straighten the sheets. 

His mind flashed back to another time he’d forgotten.

_“Did you want to come here?”_

_“Your butler asked me to.”_

_“Yeah, but did you actually want to come? I mean, you didn’t just say yes to be polite, did you? You don’t even know me.”_

Bruce shivered, glancing at the empty fireplace in the corner of the room. This wasn’t the greatest time to be thinking about their lost pasts…back when he’d had friends who actually cared about him, not just whether or not he’d pick up the tab at the bar they were at. He didn’t _want_ to think about that, it was easier this way. Tricking himself into thinking everything was fine.

Even if he was fully aware it was a trick.

His phone had been dropped to the floor, and Bruce picked it up, flipping it open and scrolling through the messages. There was a voicemail from this morning from Tommy Elliot, and he halfheartedly clicked on it, listening as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

There was laughter and talking on the other end, and Tommy telling the offenders to hush before Bruce could make out any coherent words. “Hey man, my parents are gone for theweekend, so the house is free for everyone to come over. I’m telling people to come tonight, but don’t go telling your butler about it or anything. Might have some stuff here you don’t want the cops or anyone to know about.” He laughed significantly and Bruce sighed, pressing the button to delete the message. How had it come to this? Going from place to place around the city, watching his friends get wasted and high and dragging him along with them…were they even his friends? He knew they only wanted him around for his money. Sure, they appreciated him, but that was just because he was the only billionaire in the group. 

_Without that, you’d be nothing to them._

_And you know it._

He got to his feet, shuffling out the door and into the hall, clutching the phone in one hand. He glanced apathetically at the family portrait that hung on the wall—the one where he’d worn the blue cable knit sweater, and the one Jeremiah had asked him about when he’d first come to the manor all those years ago—and his steps slowed. Reluctantly, like a criminal facing a judge at their trial, he stared at the picture. 

“Sorry.” he muttered, his gaze faltering and falling to the ground. 

_Sorry I’m not what you wanted me to be. Whatever that was._

He hadn’t been able to protect Gotham…he couldn’t even protect innocent people who had gotten in the way of Ra’s al Ghul’s plan. For all his starry-eyed dreaming of saving the city from itself, he was a failure. That much was obvious. He couldn’t believe he’d even considered himself capable of such a ludicrous idea. 

_You can’t save Gotham. No one can._

Even his friends hadn’t believed in him. Selina had laughed it off as a childish fantasy, and Jeremiah…well, he’d clearly disapproved of Bruce taking on a responsibility like that from the start. 

He looked back up at the picture, his expression lost. _Who am I supposed to be?_

Unsurprisingly, the picture said nothing. Bruce sat down with his back against the opposite wall, squinting in the sunlight that fell across the floor around him. He might as well just down some coffee and go find Tommy, wherever he was in the city, and forget about all this. There wasn’t any point in speculating about what could have been.

Let the city fall, he told himself, he didn’t care. 

_Oh, but you do. No matter what you pretend to believe, you care. You want Gotham to keep standing, no matter what it takes. Somewhere inside you, you still want that. Because this city is your home, and you won’t let it collapse around you. You know why?_

_Because you, Bruce, you’re breaking. You’re being torn apart from the inside out, eaten alive by guilt._

_You might not be able to stop yourself from breaking, but if you could keep the city together…_

_Then you’d have something to live for._

He scoffed at the thought. It was sentimental garbage, ramblings of a half-awake mind that didn’t know what it was talking about.

It was pointless to speculate, because he would only fail again.

_But if you don’t try, then who will?_

Bruce gulped, wishing he’d stayed asleep. It was too early in the morning for an existential crisis, least of all one about his indeterminate future. But he couldn’t ignore his own thoughts that persisted in nagging at him, whispering just enough truth to warrant his attention.

Who he’d been before…he wasn’t that person anymore. He didn’t have any inflated expectations that he could save everyone in Gotham. And he didn’t think he could succeed even if he tried. Maybe some people were cut out to be heroes, but not him.

_You’ve got to start somewhere. Just because you didn’t win last time doesn’t mean you’ll lose forever._

_Doesn’t Gotham deserve someone to watch out for the people, even if that person’s not exactly an expert on saving anyone?_

He shook his head. No, he wasn’t going back down that route. It was too late for that. He’d passed up a chance he could’ve taken, but there was no going back now. He had to look ahead.

_And what_ is _ahead? What do you see, Bruce? Who could you be?_

He started as the phone in his hand began to ring. Glancing down at the caller ID, he read the name “Tommy Elliot.” _What does he want now?_

Bruce was on the verge of answering the call, but as he looked up, his eye caught the motionless gaze of his parents in the picture above him. Watching him silently, like they always would, never there to offer advice, never there to comfort them.

Because they were dead.

_Because there was no one to save him._

The phone kept ringing, but Bruce didn’t really hear it anymore. He kept staring at the picture, trying to look away, trying to forget. 

But he couldn’t. Because that was who he was. It formed his entire identity, tacked onto his very name. Bruce Wayne, billionaire _orphan._

Parents murdered before their time.

_And no one saved them._

Numbly, as if in a dream, he moved to flip the phone open. The ringing stopped, and he heard a faint voice speak tinnily on the other end of the line.

“Bruce?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Somehow, he had nothing to say. He wasn’t sure why he’d answered the call in the first place.

He wasn’t sure of anything.

_ No one saved _ _them_.

_ There could have been a world...a life...where they were still alive, if things had been different, if there had been someone to stop the man who... _

“Bruce, are you there?”

_Someone could have saved them, if that person had existed. But they didn’t, and your parents are dead._

_But that doesn’t have to happen again._

_You don’t have to let it happen again._

Tommy was saying something, but Bruce didn’t hear it. His eyes never left the picture of his family as his finger moved over the “end call” button and the voice cut out with a sudden, sharp click.

 

\+ + + + + +

 

“I just want to know,” Jerome said with a smile that looked more like he was baring his teeth at his audience, “who thought it was a good idea to mention our little plan to someone else. Don’t worry, I won’t kill ya. I’m just curious.” The dangerous gleam in his dark eyes suggested otherwise.

As was to be expected, the two inmates he was speaking to remained silent, casting accusatory glances at one another. Jerome cracked his knuckles and cleared his throat, the smile never leaving his face.

“Was it you, Jonny?” His eyes locked on Jonathan, who shook his head vigorously.

“Why would I tell anyone? You specifically told me not to.”

“That’s an answer I like to hear,” Jerome winked, “but is it true?”

“Yes! I want to get out of here as much as you do,” Jonathan looked around nervously as he lowered his voice, “and I wouldn’t put us in jeopardy by gossiping. I thought you would know that, Jerome.”

“Ah, save it.” the redhead waved him off. “I believe you, you're faithful to me, yada yada. Jervis?”

Jervis Tetch, whom Jerome had invited to join in his escape plan after the guards had transferred the man to the cell beside Jerome’s, moving Jonathan elsewhere, glared. “Mr. Valeska, you seem to think I’m an amateur to crime. Allow me to reassure you—”

“Oh, guess what? I don’t really care.” Jerome interrupted. “But it was one of you. No one else knows about this…operation, and yet _someone,”_ he leaned forward menacingly, reveling in the way the other two recoiled from him, “found out. And I had to go through the trouble of killing that poor soul after he snitched to the guards.” He wiped a pretend tear from his eye. 

“Trouble.” Jonathan snorted. “You _like_ killing people.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s hard to hide a body in an asylum.” Jerome complained. “And the guards know I’m the one who killed that guy. They were keeping an eye on him after he told them what he’d heard.”

“Maybe he overheard _you_.” Jonathan pointed out, and Jerome rolled his eyes. “You’re not exactly quiet, and we _are_ in here whenever you try to talk about your plan,” he motioned to the surrounding rec room. “It wouldn’t be hard for someone to listen in on a conversation.”

Jerome looked narrowly at both of them for a long moment, and the other two held their breath, knowing it took very little prompting for the psychotic inmate to cause maximum damage to anyone in arm’s reach when he wanted to. Then he grinned, shrugging it off like nothing had happened.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. They’ll probably just stick us all in different cells, maybe an extra guard or two, but we can roll with that, can’t we, babes? Jonny, you’ve got your formula working, right?”

He nodded, holding up a worn piece of paper on which was scrawled instructions for a chemical compound. Jerome squinted at it appraisingly.

“Have you tested it?”

“I’m going to today. I just need to get one or two things from the kitchen. It’ll only be a crude replica of the actual substance, you know. I need the real components for it to do what it’s supposed to. And I’ll need a test subject.”

“Yeah yeah, we’ll get to that once we’re out of this dump.” Jerome assured him. “Jervis, you’ve been working on your part?”

The man in the paper top hat gestured toward the ancient radio that sat in the corner of the rec room, playing rusty replicas of old swing dance music below the sound of the other inmates’ voices. “I’ve been listening day in and day out, Mr. Valeska, and I think I’ve found the right one. Now it’s only a matter of procuring a map to find the correct station, and…”

“Okay, do that.” Jerome cut him off impatiently. “The guards are getting suspicious, boys, so we should stop these little get-togethers before they can guess too much. You keep working away at your parts like the busy little bees I know you are,” he spun around on his heel, hands behind his back, and started away, “and I’ll take care of the rest. See you on the flipside.”

Leaving his two partners-in-crime behind, Jerome sidled up to one of the tables on the other side of the room, clamping his hands down on the shoulders of the inmate sitting there. The latter jumped in surprise, then looked up disdainfully when he saw Jerome’s face.

“What do you want now?”

“Ozzie, old pal, old chum, glad you asked.” Jerome sat down beside him and slung an arm around Oswald Cobblepot, stealing a piece of toast from his lunch tray. “Thought I might mention my little offer again, ‘case you were still interested.”

Oswald curled a lip at the younger inmate as he was hit in the face with a spray of toast crumbs. “I think I made myself quite clear.” he said frostily. “I don’t need your help in getting out of here.”

“See, but that’s not really what I was offering.” Jerome leaned in closer and Oswald raised an eyebrow at him. “Sure, I was gonna help ya get out, but that’s not all. You,” he jabbed the man in the chest with a finger, “could have a primary spot on the team I’m putting together. Think about _that.”_

“No, thank you.” Oswald turned away. He was deathly afraid of Jerome’s unpredictability and blatant display of insanity, although he’d learned to not show it anymore, and the very ides of teaming up with the madman was enough to make his blood run cold.

Unperturbed, Jerome patted him on the shoulder, finishing off the last of his stolen toast. “Ah, no big deal. I know you’ll come ‘round eventually.” he chuckled before strolling away. Oswald watched him leave, wondering uneasily what sort of plan Jerome was concocting and what sort of havoc he would wreak upon Gotham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know in the show Bruce becoming "normal" again relates to the whole Ivy-drugging-him-and-Bruce-having-foreshadowing-Batman-hallucinations, but I kind of wished he'd been able to change his behavior on his own rather than being drugged and basically being forced into realizing who he's supposed to be, so yeah, that part's different in this fic :)


	20. Turning Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished another chapter today and I'm too impatient to wait for tomorrow to upload it, so here, have the second chapter of the day (also it's really long whoops)

**Chapter Twenty**

 

“Jeremiah,” Ecco followed him into the newly built room placed at the end of one of the halls in the maze, looked around with raised eyebrows at the bare stone walls, “maybe you could explain what all this is about.”

He began to fit the security camera he was holding into a small niche that was cut into one of the walls, fiddling with the wires that poked out of the outlet. “Call it a safety precaution.” He hadn’t actually voiced his plan to his assistant yet…he’d tried to several times, but always ended up faltering and changing the subject before he could tell her the truth.

_Why? It’s a perfectly rational and intelligent plan. It makes sense, and she would have no reason to criticize it. She’d understand._

_She would have to understand._

“A precaution for what?” Ecco pressed on, determined to figure this out. Jeremiah sighed. 

“Ecco, I appreciate your concern, but could you just trust me this once? I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m sure you do.” She watched him step back to check that the camera was being held in place. “But what’s the harm in telling me? Unless you’re hiding something.” She knew that would get him to talk; he never liked to be accused of lying, although she knew he did it often enough. And if that was the only way to learn what was going on, then she would resort to that.

To her surprise, Jeremiah seemed unaffected by her words. He gave her a meaningful glance, as if to tell her he knew what she was trying to do, but didn’t answer the question. “Whether or not I’m hiding something isn’t any of your business.”

_That_ stung, but Ecco was determined. “It kind of is, Jeremiah. I’m your assistant, I’m supposed to make sure you’re safe and not…”

“Not making foolish decisions, is that it?” he interrupted, and even if he wasn’t trying to be rude, there was a none of condescension on his tone. “This may come as a surprise to you, but I’m not an idiot. And my judgement is _sound_.”

“I’m not questioning your judgement. I’m only trying to help.”

“You can help by attaching those padlocks to the doorframe.” He pointed to said padlocks that sat in the corner of the room. “The door’s automatic and can only be opened from the outside, but there’s no harm in being too careful.”

“You’re making a prison cell.” Ecco stated, not bothering to phrase it as a question. “You’re planning on locking someone up in here, aren’t you?”

Jeremiah didn’t look at her. “And if I am?”

“You know that’s not exactly legal…”

“Ecco, you know the law in Gotham means absolutely nothing. And besides, _everyone_ knows the GCPD can’t control crime to save their lives. Really, if I did this for every criminal in the city, I’d be doing them a favor.”

“But this isn’t for every criminal in the city.” She picked up one of the padlocks and turned it over in her hand. “This is targeted at someone.”

“Targeted makes it sound like I’m planning a murder.” he said disapprovingly.

“Well, if that’s not what you’re planning, what is it then?”

“I already _said—_ ”

“I know what you said, but Jeremiah, you’re building a _prison_ cell in your own home. Don’t you realize how absurd that very idea is?”

“It’s not absurd, and anyway, it’s the only way Jerome—” He broke off, face flushing in guilt. Ecco stared.

“Jerome?” He turned away from her, pretending to be busy fixing the security camera. Ecco nodded slowly, beginning to understand. “This is for him.” There was no question about it.

“Arkham doesn’t have what it takes to hold him.” Jeremiah said softly, running his hand down the cold stone wall. “I told you, he’s biding his time so he can escape. If he gets out via unregulated means, don’t you see how bad that would be?”

“But haven’t you spent all this time making sure he’d never find you?”

“It’s the only way I can know for certain he’ll never get what he wants. To drive me insane and then kill me.”

“So you want to bring him _here.”_

“Yes.”

Something clicked in Ecco’s mind. “What did you mean when you said ‘unregulated means?’”

Jeremiah looked at her intently, searching for a read on how she felt about all this. Somehow, he felt he could convince her with less persuasion than he’d expected. If she was able to accept the next piece of the puzzle.

“We already know he’s going to break out of Arkham.” he said steadily, reasonably. He couldn’t let Ecco see the fear in his eyes. “If other people have done it, Jerome can. He will. And if he breaks out on his own terms, none of this,” he pressed the palm of his hand to the wall of the cell, “will amount to anything.”  
“Breaks out on his own terms….” Ecco’s eyes widened. “Jeremiah, you’re not suggesting—”

“I told you, everyone knows he’s going to break out of his own accord anyway.”

“You’re going to _help_ him escape?”

Jeremiah frowned at her choice of words. “I’m not helping him do anything. I’m overseeing the situation so things will go smoothly and I can ensure he’ll be locked up here.”

“That’s still helping him escape.”

“You’re only seeing part of the picture, Ecco.”

“The part where you help your brother who’s been trying to kill you for _years_ get out of prison! I think that’s kind of an important part, don’t you?”

“He can’t kill me if he’s safely locked away!”

“Yes, but what about everything before that? You know Jerome better than anyone. He’s unpredictable and dangerous. You have no guarantee _he’s_ going to go along with what you have planned, even if he doesn’t know about it.”

“Because I know him better than anyone,” Jeremiah argued, “I can make sure he does what I want. He’s unpredictable, yes, but I know how he thinks. And when the stakes are this high, failure can’t be a possibility.”

_You can’t even consider it._

_Because then you’ll back down._

Ecco pursed her lips. “You do realize that’s also highly illegal to break someone out of a prison?”

“To put them in a more secure prison? I don’t see how that could be punishable by law. It would be perfectly controlled, Ecco, you know I wouldn’t even dream of doing something like this unless I knew it would work.”

“But you _don’t.”_

“I do. I think you’re underestimating the amount of thought I’ve put into this. I realize the danger, and I realize that Jerome isn’t easy to predict. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible for this to work.”

“Not impossible,” Ecco said quietly, “but incredibly risky. Are you really willing to undo everything you’ve worked for? Everything you’ve done to make sure Jerome never finds you? Is it worth it?”

Jeremiah could already see in her eyes that she would give in and help him, no matter what she was saying now. He didn’t know it was because Ecco was seeing a new side to him, one she’d wanted to see for a long time; more self-assured than he’d been before…to him, it didn’t matter why. All that mattered was that Ecco _would_ help him, because it was what she always did.

“I’m not undoing everything.” he explained, stepping out of the cell and into the hall. “I’m just…reworking my original plan. Sometimes that’s better.”

“I still think it’s an unnecessary risk, and you’re putting yourself in a lot of danger.”

“I know that.” He didn’t want to think about it, though. “That’s why I…”

_That’s why I have to do this before I lose my nerve._

_Before I never get the chance again._

_The chance to end things, once and for all._

“The end result will pay off. I can ensure his confinement better than any of those idiots at Arkham. You know that, Ecco.” She nodded uneasily, clearly not wanting to be convinced, but allowing herself to be anyway. “If you think about it, I’m doing Gotham a favor. That _psychopath_ wants nothing but destruction, and if he’s securely locked away, then this city won’t have to worry about him again. It’s going to work, and I’ll need your help.” He tacked on that last comment somewhat hastily, and Ecco looked up in surprised.

“My help?” 

“I have a plan, but I can’t do it alone. I promise you won’t ever be in danger, and—”

“I’ll do whatever you want.” she interrupted, hoping the elation on her face wasn’t too obvious. Jeremiah had never outright admitted that he needed her… _wanted_ her to help him, and this concession quickly offset the uncertainty she felt about her employer’s plan.

He truly needed her.

That was enough to make her do anything for him.

_You hopeless romantic,_ she thought sternly. _Don't let your feelings get in the way of your practicality. He doesn’t care for you that way…at least, he’s never shown it. Don’t be a fool and trick yourself into thinking you mean more to him than you really do._

Still, she couldn’t help but hope that maybe, if she did what he wanted, he’d begin to see that she could be more than just an assistant. 

And that was enough encouragement to go along with whatever he wanted.

On Jeremiah’s part, he was confused as to why Ecco seemed so compliant when she didn’t even know what he was going to ask her to do. Still, if it got the job done, then he wouldn’t question it. 

“First of all, I’m going to need access to some of the Arkham guards’ files. The ones that say how long they’ve been working there, and how much they know about the inmates. That’ll be the first important step.”

“Why?” Ecco asked, feeling stupid that she didn’t understand what Jeremiah was planning to do with that information. Fortunately, he didn’t seem annoyed.

“I’ll explain that later. I’ll also need to arrange for several guards to be fired. The ones who work in the same section where they’re keeping Jerome. Once they’re gone, I’ll make sure they’re replaced by guards who’ve come to the asylum within the last six months. Ones who don’t know the ropes as well. It’ll make it easier for him to escape that way.” He quickened his pace as he strode toward the workshop, and Ecco hurried behind. She couldn’t help but admire his constant flow of ideas, but her conscience prompted her to ask,

“What if something happens to those new guards when Jerome gets out? You know how violent he’s been in the past.” 

Jeremiah didn’t reply to that. He pushed open the workshop door and began to pace back and forth in front of the desk, hands in his pockets. “He can’t be the only one to break out, either. If things go too smoothly, the GCPD might begin to suspect he had outside help. And that would raise too many questions. We’ll make it so at least two or three others in the same ward get out too, that way no one will pinpoint Jerome as the only one to escape.”

Ecco crossed her arms. “And what about them? Leave the police to deal with them?”

“I’ll figure that out later.” he said sharply, turning away from her again. “All that matters right now is getting Jerome here.”

“Okay.” She wasn’t going to argue with him when he spoke like that. “So you get the old guards fired, make sure the new ones are stationed near Jerome, and a couple people are able to break out so it doesn't seem too obvious. But what about the motive? If he hasn’t broken out before now, what’s going to make him decide that he should all of a sudden?”

Jeremiah held up a blueprint that sat on the desk. “What is the one thing Jerome _doesn’t_ want?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“To be upstaged by me. He can’t stand it when I’m acknowledged and he isn’t. That’s his weakness, and I’m going to exploit it.”

“What does that have to do with the blueprint?”

“It’s a prototype of the energy reactor.” He pointed to the reactor itself sitting on the table. “With some alterations, of course, from the real one. I’m not giving _those_ plans to anyone until I’ve worked out every last problem. But still, it should be suitably impressive. Clean energy is a hot button issue these days, and reporters will eat it up right away. I’m going to send the Gotham Gazette an anonymous notice the day before it’ll be introduced, and when you bring the committee this design, the news’ll be out. Jerome knows I’ve used the name Xander Wilde before, and if he sees this in the paper, it’ll be exactly the thing he needs to try and escape.” He drew in a deep breath, glancing at Ecco for approval. 

“You think that’ll be enough for him to take action?”  
“You said it yourself, I know Jerome.” He didn’t flinch at the statement this time. “I know what makes him angry. He won’t want to sit around in Arkham if he sees I’ve been successful and he hasn't.”

“Assuming that all goes according to plan,” Ecco held up a hand, forestalling any more explanation, “then what? You expect to track him down in the streets and bring him back here?”

“No.” He chanced another look at her, almost hesitantly this time. “I’ve thought that part through as well.”

“Okay, so what is it?”

He adjusted his glasses, taking great care in setting down the blueprint so he could avoid her gaze. “It might involve you.”

She didn’t back down. “I already told you I’d do whatever you ask.”

“Would you?” He suddenly turned to stare at her, searching her gaze to see if she was telling the truth. Ecco stared back.

“Of course I would. You’re my boss.”

“Not for this sort of thing.”

“I’d do it anyway.”

They both said nothing for a long moment, never breaking eye contact. Ecco could feel a change in whatever they had between them, if there was anything in the first place. He was seeing her now, truly _seeing_ her, no longer taking her for granted as an assistant to do the work he didn’t want to do himself. She was _someone_ to him now, and if she was the sort of person to be optimistic, she might have said he felt something more for her than he had before.

“Are you sure about that?” Jeremiah asked quietly, and Ecco nodded.

“What is it you want me to do?”

He sighed, sitting down at the desk as if this entire ordeal had already begun to wear on him. She could see the self-doubt begin to creep back into his eyes, and hoped he would push it away. She liked who he’d just been, liked how he believed he _could_ do what he wanted, and she didn’t want to see it break down. 

“I want you to rent an apartment.” Jeremiah said, picking up a pencil and tapping the end on the edge of the blueprint in front of him. Ecco looked confused.

“Care to explain that?”

“Rent an apartment—I’ll pay for it, obviously—and give the address to the Wayne Enterprises committee. Tell them that if they ever need to contact you, they can go there.”

“Okay…?”

“You’ve trained as a bodyguard, haven’t you?”

Ecco was constantly surprised at each new turn this conversation was taking. “That’s why Mr. Wayne hired me.” 

“And you consider yourself capable of besting most people in a fight?”

“You know that I do, I wrote it on my resume. If you ever read it.”  
“Do you think,” he asked slowly, his voice growing quieter, “you could hold your own if you were to face Jerome in any given circumstance?”

“Your brother?” She almost laughed. “Jeremiah, I’ve seen footage of him, both from when he broke out of Arkham the first time and when he came back to life. He can't even make a fist properly. No offense, but he wouldn’t stand a chance.”

His hand, which had been holding the pencil tightly, relaxed. “Then you…you would be able to take him down if he showed up at that apartment and you were there?”

Ecco wasn’t afraid of Jerome Valeska. She could see past all this theatricalities and over-the-top schemes and knew beneath all that, there was nothing particularly unbreakable about him. He was only human, like everyone else. Barring the fact he _had_ come back to life before, he could be defeated just as easily as anyone. “Of course I could.”

“Are you sure.” He looked at her tentatively, and she could see the fear that had been ingrained in him ever since they’d first met. He was so terrified of Jerome that he seemed to forget sometimes that his twin wasn’t an indestructible being. 

Ecco tossed her head. “I can do it. Trust me.”

“Okay.” He set down the pencil and stood up again, rounding the corner of the desk. Ecco followed him. “The first thing we’ll need is the ledger of the Arkham guards and their work experience.”

“I can get it for you.” she said quickly, hoping this might be a chance to impress him even further. If he could just see how capable she was of doing whatever he wanted, he would always want her by his side, wouldn’t he? “It shouldn’t be hard to get in. I’m assuming it would be kept in an administrator’s office, right?”

“Yes, most likely, but how would—”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to get it. They won’t even know it’s missing.” Ecco flashed him a smile, and Jeremiah returned it hesitantly. Somehow, as his plan was beginning to come together, he only felt less and less confident that it would actually work. Sure, he’d thought everything out so carefully, but what if…well, he didn’t even have a “what if” in mind. He only knew things could go wrong very quickly, and if they did, who knew what would happen?

He found himself wishing Bruce was here so he could ask for his advice. But no, Bruce didn’t have _time_ for him anymore, and besides, Ecco was the only person he could tell. Somehow, Jeremiah felt that Bruce might not understand his reasoning behind all this. He couldn’t blame him for that…to someone who didn’t know the rationale behind his plan, it could appear almost ludicrous. And definitely foolish.

But it didn’t matter, because Bruce was busy with his new friends, anyway. And Jeremiah wasn’t sure if _that_ would ever change, no matter what he did.

 

\+ + + + + +

 

Jerome lay flat on the bunk in the corner of his cell and stared out the high window at the storm raging outside. The thunder seemed to rattle the bars, and he grinned. He’d always loved storms, even as a boy…when he was still at the circus, he’d sneak outside in the middle of the night, hoping to get hit with a bolt of lightning. There had been a stagehand who worked at the circus for a few years to whom that had happened, half his face lined with a web of white scarring, and seven-year-old Jerome had admired it immensely. A few times, he’d tried to convince Jeremiah to join him, but his brother always refused. 

_Such a stick-in-the-mud._

He sighed, bored at having no one to talk to. Jonathan had been moved to the other end of the wing, and Jervis was locked away in the furthest cell in the corridor, where the guards all wore headsets to avoid his hypnosis tricks. At least Jerome had been able to give them their instructions to follow through on before they’d been separated. Now it was just a waiting game for the opportune moment…maybe a new set of wardens who would slip up just enough for Jerome to catch them off guard, maybe a chance at blocking off the cell’s keyhole so the door didn’t lock…whatever it was, it would come soon, he was sure of that.

Still, it was horrendously boring, sitting here all alone.

_Oh, but it’s worth the wait._

He giggled to himself, and the guard outside the door glanced in suspiciously. Craning his neck to face the man, Jerome wiggled his fingers in greeting and the guard turned away with a scowl. “Like what ya see?” the redhead called after him, hoping for a confrontation or _something_ to spice up the evening, but there was no reply. He flopped back down on the bed and began counting the cracks in the ceiling, but it was still boring, and he got distracted after half a minute. Bounding to his feet, he began to pace back and forth in the cell restlessly, experimentally bending his fingers in unnatural positions to see if he could dislocate them. The guards hated when he did that, because Jerome would always take them by surprise, waving a hand grotesquely contorted in all sort of abnormal places in their faces, but he thought it was funny. 

_Stilllll bored._ he thought, scuffing his feet on the floor. He pulled the copy of the directions for Jonathan’s chemical formula out of his sleeve, looking over it disinterestedly. His mother had never bothered to make him study chemistry, so of course, Jerome hadn’t. Jeremiah had, that stuffy little smarty-pants, probably just so he could think he was better than Jerome. That was usually how things had gone, hadn’t they? It was the one thing that put him on edge: when his brother tried to be better than him. 

_What’s he tryin’ to prove, anyway?_

But it didn’t matter, because Jeremiah would never win again. Not after this. Jerome smiled to himself.

“As the old saying doesn’t go, if you can’t join ‘em, beat ‘em.” he muttered to himself, then laughed at his own joke. It was funny, because it was exactly what he was going to do.

And Jeremiah would finally learn what he’d been avoiding all these years.

Ever since he abandoned Jerome when his brother had just been trying to teach him what was right in front of his nose, if he’d only let himself see it.

_But you always knew I’d show you the truth, didn’t you? It was a waiting game, for both of us._

_Not any longer._

He remembered something Mr. Cicero from the circus had told him once when he was very young. The old man…his _father,_ he reminded himself, chortling at the thought _(killed both my parents, now that’s what I call an orphan power move),_ had caught Jerome crying about something mundane and probably nothing worth crying over; most likely his mother beating him or something along those lines, it didn’t matter what. But he did remember one thing clear as day: the words the blind old fortune teller had spoken in his gravely voice between Jerome’s sniffs and stifled sobs.

“Don’t let it get you down.” he’d said, patting the young boy on the head as he sat on the steps of his trailer, smoking a cigarette. “You can’t let a bad day like this get to you, Jerome. You know what happens then.”

“What happens?” Jerome had asked, looking up at the man with teary eyes. Mr. Cicero had stubbed out the cigarette with the heel of his shoe and leaned forward, speaking each word with careful deliberation.

“Well, it’s a surefire way to lose your mind, that’s for sure.” He tapped the side of his head for emphasis. “You let this kind of stuff worry you, Jerome, and soon enough, you can’t stop it. It takes over. And it’s not just you. We all…any of us,” he spread his arms vaguely, gesturing at the bustle of the circus around them, “could go insane with just one bad day. I’ve seen it happen often enough. It’s the last little push, and before you know it, you can’t turn back. So don’t let this sort of thing get you down, Jerome.”

Jerome had stopped listening several seconds before, his mind turning over the notion proposed by the old man over and over again, pondering the thought solemnly. After that day, he stopped going to Mr. Cicero for comfort when he’d had a bad day, remembering the man’s words. Even now, they rang in his head as clearly as if it had happened only yesterday.

In his cell, Jerome laughed to himself. _Idiot, that wasn’t advice, he was tellin’ you your future. That was his job, wasn’t it? You sure got your money’s worth outta that one._

_He_ knew it was the truth…had known it ever since that day, the last day he’d spent at the circus, standing over his mother’s dead body with a hatchet dripping with blood in one hand. The old man had been right, Jerome knew that from the start. 

But Jeremiah…oh, he was another story. Stubborn as they came. No matter what Jerome did, he could never make his brother really believe the truth. Sure, he’d said it once or twice, but that had only been to appease Jerome, an act of self-preservation. He didn’t _truly_ understand it, but that was fine.

Because if he wouldn’t learn it on his own, then Jerome was not above calling in a little extra help.

_Speaking of which,_ he thought, _wonder how Jonny boy’s getting on with his little mix?_ He pressed a hand to his mouth to stifle a chuckle. _Oh, Jeremiah, you are in for the surprise of your life._

The thunder crackled outside, drowning out the sound of his laughter, but Jerome laughed anyway, eyes wide and glittering with unhinged glee, biding his time until he was ready to release havoc upon Gotham in a way the city would never, ever forget.

 

\+ + + + + +

 

Jeremiah looked up at Ecco, admiration shining in his eyes. She felt heat rise to her cheeks and hoped she wasn’t blushing as much as she thought she was. 

“You really got it.” His voice was hushed, as if he was standing on the brink of a precipice, looking down into darkness below and trying to make the jump. Scared, but determined at the same time. 

She loved him for it.

_Okay, yes, I said love, I love him, so what?_

“I told you I would.” she replied, shaking her hair out of the severe bun she’d had it pulled into. “It was an easy lift. No one saw, and by the looks of that office, no one’s ever in there, anyway. They won’t notice it was gone in the first place.”

Jeremiah hesitantly touched the plastic cover of the ledger, the words “Property of Arkham Asylum” written on the front in block letters. “I didn’t expect it to be that easy.”

“Aw, you didn’t underestimate me, did you?” she teased, and he looked at her skeptically. Ecco cleared her throat. 

_You’re overstepping again. He doesn’t understand yet. Doesn’t understand that he needs you._

_But he will. You’re the only thing in his life that’s always been constant. Even his beloved Bruce Wayne’s abandoned him, and that street kid Selina, she hasn’t shown her face around here in a hot minute._

_Just give him time._

_He’ll learn eventually._

“Like I said, it was easy. Dress as a nurse and they’ll let you in just about anywhere.” she laughed quietly, hoping he would join in, but he didn’t. “Anyway. It should be just as simple to put it back when you’re finished with it.”

Jeremiah was flipping carefully through the pages of the ledger, his eyes scanning each file intently. He checked the names of the guards, then the dates they had begun to work at the asylum. Nothing was arranged chronologically, and he sighed impatiently when he realized he would have to read the entire thing to find the information he needed.

Well, that was fine.

If that’s what it took, he would do it.

“Has the landlord called you yet?” he asked, not looking up. Ecco began pinning her hair back up, glancing at her reflection in the monitors that had been turned off for the night. 

“Yes. I made the down payment on my way back from the asylum. Told him it won’t be for long, and he was all right with that.”

“And you gave the address to the committee?”

“Yesterday. I went by the office and the front desk staff told me they’d get it to them.”

He nodded, still turning the pages of the book in front of him, marking one that listed the guard as having only worked in Arkham for half a month. “Good.”

She watched him silently, wishing she had something clever or interesting to say, something that would get and hold his attention. Something that would make him realize who she could be, if he let her. 

_You have to stop this. It won’t amount to anything, the way it’s going. Years of watching Hallmark films should have taught you that by now. All he wants right now is to work out this thing with Jerome. That’s all he’s focused on, and he won’t pay attention to anything else, so quit trying._

Jeremiah glanced up, about to say something, when an alarm began to ring from the monitors. Ecco watched as his eyes grew wide in panic, then calmed when he realized it was only the alarm that signaled something had activated the motion sensor by the front door. That particular one went off quite frequently, considering they were in the middle of a forest and the sensor was reactive enough that even a leaf drifting in front of the camera would set it off. Jeremiah got up to check the monitor anyway, Ecco trailing behind. He flipped on the camera feed, staring with narrowed eyes at the view of the darkness outside, then he sucked in a breath and Ecco noticed his shoulders tensed. She peered around him at the screen, her face falling when she recognized the figure standing at the door.

_Oh, great._

Jeremiah was still staring, unable to believe what he was seeing. Maybe it was just a trick of the imagination…he knew all about those…but no, not even _his_ imagination could conjure up something so real. The visitor at the front door was no illusion. Slightly dazed, he pressed the button that allowed the door to slide open, watching as the figure stepped inside after a moment’s hesitation. He looked up at the camera, meeting Jeremiah’s eyes through the monitor, and the latter froze again, not wanting himself to believe it in case it was a cruel trick of his own mind.

He turned back to Ecco, and she gave him a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. For a moment, he contemplated why that might be, but stopped thinking about it moments later. He pressed the button to open the workshop door, stepping out into the hall and staring down at his hands, which were trembling. 

_It’s a wonder you can function as an engineer with nerves like yours._

Before long, he heard footsteps and saw a shadow appear around the corner. His mouth went dry, and uncertainty swept over him like a sudden chill. 

_Why would he be here?_

_He wasn’t so keen on being around you last time, was he?_

Then Bruce was standing there, barely an arm’s length away, and Jeremiah could only look at him, wondering with increasing unease what had prompted his friend (were they friends still? Friends the way they had been before? What were they?) to come here. 

They both said nothing for a long moment, then spoke at the same time.

“Bruce—”

“Jeremiah, I—” Bruce hesitated, slowly turning his gaze up to meet the other’s. Jeremiah looked at him carefully, searching for that empty expression he’d worn before, but he couldn’t find it. His heart leapt in his chest.

_Are you back for good?_

Moments later, it was followed by the thought, _You might be too late._

Even if Bruce was back…even if he had become who he used to be again, Jeremiah knew things wouldn’t be the same. Not because he didn't trust Bruce to remain himself, but because _he_ had changed. He knew it, knew by the way the voice in his head always sounded so smug, so satisfied whenever it spoke, as if it had been the cause of all this, knew because he’d actually gone through the trouble to build a _prison cell_ for his brother, his brother he’d been afraid of his entire life. He’d changed, he’d become something different than whatever he had once been, and he wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

“Of course it’s a good thing.” the voice scoffed before Jeremiah could try to suppress it. “Look at you now. You’re becoming who you could have been all this time, if you had only been brave enough then. But no matter, at least you’re understanding _now._ Better late than never.”

“I probably should have called or something before I came here.” Bruce said quietly, interrupting the voice. “I know it’s late.” He smiled uneasily. “In a lot of ways.”

“It’s fine.” was all Jeremiah could manage, but he wanted to say so much more, wanted to ask Bruce a million questions, ask if he was really back, and if this was really him…

“No.” he said, still in that quiet tone. “It isn’t, and that’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

There was something in the way he spoke that scared Jeremiah…somehow he knew he didn’t want to hear whatever Bruce was going to say. He could already see it in his friend’s eyes.

“It doesn’t matter what happened. It’s over now. We can…”

“This can’t happen anymore.” Bruce pressed his hands together. “I can’t keep doing this to you.”

Jeremiah frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Do you even realize how many times I’ve let you down?” Bruce’s dark eyes were miserable. “How many times you’ve thought you could depend on me and I didn’t measure up to what you needed me to be? And somehow, it keeps happening. I keep messing up.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not you, Bruce. You’re not the one who—”

“I am.” he said vehemently. “I am, and you can deny it all you want, you can try to spare my feelings, but it’s _true_. Think about it. If you hadn’t known me in the first place, all those years ago, what would have happened?”

“I don’t know what you’re…”

“Three years ago.” Bruce said sharply. “We both know that if I hadn’t let Galavan deceive me, he…you wouldn’t have gotten involved in any of it. You would never have had to face Jerome, and instead, he nearly killed you.” His voice caught, but he steadied it. “That was _my fault._ I let it happen.”

“But you’re the one who stopped Galavan.” Jeremiah pointed out just as quickly, ignoring the memories that flashed in front of his eyes without warning, the anxiety just as fresh as if it had only just happened. “If it wasn’t for you, Jerome _would_ have succeeded.”

“If it wasn’t for me, none of it would have happened!” Bruce retorted, his voice rising. “It was my fault. And I know what it did to you. You haven’t ever been the same since then. Because of me, and what I did.”

“No…”

“And it wasn’t just that.” Bruce continued relentlessly, his own voice beginning to tremble. “Jerome used me to get to _you_ when he came back to life. I was the bait, because he knew you cared enough to try and save me. I put you in danger again, because we were friends.”

_We_ are _friends, we’ve always been friends, things may have changed but that won’t, it never will…_

“He could have killed you then. And I was the reason it could have happened.”

“And you stopped him again. He _didn’t_ kill me. Because you were there.”

“And then I abandoned you.” Bruce’s voice became quiet again, and Jeremiah could hear his own heart pounding in the silence. “I left you behind for people I didn’t even know. Because I was too much of a coward to face my own mistakes. I let Ra’s al Ghul discourage me from everything I worked for, and I ended up pushing you away too.”

“But you’re back.” Jeremiah tried to argue. “That’s what matters, Bruce. You’re back now.” He knew that was true, at least…he could see in Bruce’s face that whatever had possessed him to lapse into the life of a careless delinquent was gone. He was Bruce again, but if _that_ was true, why was he saying these things?

“But what’s next?” his friend asked tonelessly. “What will I do to you next? I’m not the friend you need, Jeremiah. I’m not good for you.”

“Bruce, you can’t say that. It’s a lie.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I wish it was. I do, but I’ve thought about it, and Jeremiah, you can’t let me in your life anymore. I won’t ruin it for you.”

“You haven’t ruined _anything,_ Bruce.” he insisted desperately. “It’s not you, and it’s not your fault. Please, you’ve got to realize that. You _know_ it’s true.”

“What’s true,” Bruce replied, “is that every time something bad has happened to you, it has to do with me, too. If I hadn’t been involved, it wouldn’t have happened.” He looked intently at Jeremiah. “The other day, I decided to make a promise, to myself and to everyone I know. And if I let you close to me, I’m breaking that promise.”

“What’s the promise?” he asked breathlessly, unable to believe this was actually happening. What had made Bruce even begin to think this?

“That I would keep them safe. I wouldn’t let them be destroyed by who I am. It’s a promise I need to keep, because it’s the only thing I can do. It’s the only guarantee I have of protecting anyone I care about.” He took a step back. 

“No, Bruce, you can’t! You can’t let me…you’re…” _I need you. Can’t you see that? You’re my best friend, without you, I…_

_I’m no one._

_I’m no one unless I have you, Bruce._

“I have to.”

_“No.”_

“What else can I do?” he asked hopelessly. “I can’t put you in danger again. And I can’t keep letting you down.”

“I don’t care, none of that matters to me as long as I have you.” He didn’t care what he said now, because he would say whatever it took to persuade Bruce that he was wrong, that he couldn’t think like this. “I thought you told me once that we’re family.”

Bruce frowned deeper. “I did. And if that’s true, then I need to make sure you’ll be safe. And trust me, if you’re with me, you’re not safe. You know that better than anyone else.”

“That’s not what family means.”

“It’s what it has to mean for us.”

For once, he wished the voice in his head would say something, tell him how he could convince Bruce otherwise. But it was silent, and Jeremiah felt terribly helpless and lost. He couldn’t think up anything on his own, he needed the voice to help him, but it wasn’t there, and Bruce was going to leave him. 

_You’re the only real friend I’ve ever had…_

_It can’t end this way._

“That’s all I wanted to tell you.” Bruce finished softly, and Jeremiah choked down a humorless laugh.

_That’s all? That you’re abandoning me for good? That’s almost heartless of you, Bruce._

He couldn’t say anything…didn’t trust his voice to work properly, and besides, not a single word came to mind. It was like his brain had short-circuited.

_I wanted to show you the energy project, wanted to prove I could create something for you and for your company, wanted you to be impressed…_

_You can’t leave, Bruce._

“So I guess I’ll go now.” his friend murmured, and Jeremiah stared helplessly at him. His blank mind still couldn’t think of anything to say. “Goodbye, Jeremiah.”

He turned to go, and Jeremiah felt like someone had ripped his heart from his chest and crushed it into pieces. _He’s leaving, he’s really leaving, this isn’t a nightmare, it’s real, and he’s leaving you behind._

_And you won’t be able to bring him back this time._

Part of him wouldn’t believe it yet, and the part that did was nothing but an agonizing, horrified realization of what had happened. Not a single coherent thought, no sort of plan to make Bruce change his mind…there was nothing.

_After everything that’s happened…_

_Everything you’ve tried to do…_

_Every attempt to keep the voices in your head away, because you know Bruce wouldn’t want it to happen. Everything you’ve designed for the Enterprises’, because Bruce wanted you to show them what you could do, and you wanted to show him that you could. Every time you were certain Jerome would find you again, or that he really was driving you insane, you knew Bruce would help you forget about it, or would save you._

_And now he’s gone._

He didn’t know how long he stood in the hall, motionless as he stared at the place he’d seen his friend disappear around the corner, and he didn’t care. It didn’t matter, because Bruce had left.

He’d left for good, and he wasn’t coming back.


	21. Hold Back The Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for 1000 hits on the first fic in this series! I'm still kinda new to AO3, so it's super encouraging to see there are at least some people enjoying this lil story! <3
> 
> Hope you like this chapter :)

**Chapter Twenty-One**

 

Jerome was livid, and even after years of disguising any sign of anger beneath a cheerful (if menacing) smile, he still found it a little difficult sometimes to conceal what he truly felt.

In this case, it was the desire to hunt down Oswald Cobblepot and tear the so-called King of Gotham apart with his bare hands. 

The news that Cobblepot escaped had spread to all the Arkham inmates like a wildfire. Scarcely hours after the man was gone, everyone was buzzing with excitement and speculation on how he’d done it. When Jerome had heard what had happened, he’d found the nearest inmate in arm’s reach and bashed his head against the wall. The guards hadn’t noticed, they’d been so occupied at the bigger matter at hand. But still, Jerome was mad. He'd offered the man a completely thought-out…well, mostly, anyhow…plan to escape, even suggested joining forces, but no, the stuck-up numbskull had ignored him every time, even flat-out refused him. 

_He knew this whole time he was getting out. He knew perfectly well. That little assface._

Well, screw him. Jerome didn’t need his help. Sure, it would have been _nice_ to have one or two of the gangs on his side…after being resuscitated to the land of the living and discovering he had an entire cult of followers, it was admittedly a bit of a disappointment when they’d been disbanded after his failed upheaval of the city…but if Oswald wouldn’t cooperate, then who cared. Jerome would still get what he wanted. 

Still, it was _annoying_ that he’d kept the little secret of his own escape from everyone else.

Jerome hated people who kept secrets from him.

And he _especially_ hated it when those people ran away.

The rec room was quieter than usual today, most of the inmates eavesdropping curiously in on the guards’ conversations as they discussed the breakout and what their next course of action would be. Jerome leaned back in his chair until it stood on only two legs, fingers fluttering restlessly in the air as he listened to everything going on around him and wondering what this would mean for his own plan.

_If Oswald messes this up for me…_

_Oh, he’s gonna wish we’d never met, and that’s a promise. You know that, Ozzie? A promise!_

A nurse he hadn’t seen before brushed past him, holding a newspaper, and Jerome glanced lazily at the headline. A split second later, his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits and grew darker than usual as he sat up abruptly. The words emblazoned on the front of the paper stared back at him.

_Wayne Enterprises Employee Proposes Clean Energy Plan For The City._

And underneath it, in letters that were just barely smaller, read, _Potential key to a better Gotham, created by structural engineer Xander Wilde._

Jerome’s hands closed around the corner of the table and he sat up rigidly straight, the muscles in his scarred face tensing. His eyes flickered toward the nurse, but she didn’t look at him, in fact, she was _ignoring_ him, she didn’t even to realize he was there…

_Ohh, that little…_

_Now he’s just rubbing it in._

The nurse dropped the paper on the table, right in front of Jerome, and he snatched it up without hesitation, scanning the words over and over again, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

_Xander Wilde, genius and prodigy. Always better than anyone, always the star of the show, aren't you? You’ve just gotta steal my spotlight no matter what, huh?_

_And all because you don’t wanna be like me._

_You don’t wanna know who you really are._

“Just you wait.” he muttered to himself, then tossed a threatening glare at an inmate who looked up at him curiously. “Stick your eyes back in your skull or I’ll pull ‘em out.” he spat, and the other ducked his head, turning away. Jerome slouched down in his seat, still clutching the newspaper. 

_Oh, Miah, you try so hard. You can fool everyone else, but I know why you do it. I know why you want to be perfect._

_It’s the only thing you can do that will help you forget the truth._

_But it’s too late for you, lil bro, because I’m gonna find you. I’ll find you, and then you’ll realize. You’ll understand._

_You can hide from me, you can hide from everyone else, but you can’t hide from yourself._

_From the little voices in your head._

He crumpled the paper and flung it across the table, bounding to his feet. He’d told Jonathan and Jervis the planned day for their breakout was still a week away, but recent events had persuaded him otherwise. 

_Thinks he can overshadow me, ha. Thinks he can make this city forget about me, forget who showed them the true meaning of crazy._

_Well, guess what, Jeremiah, you can try as hard as you want, but you’ll never succeed. You’ll never make them forget, and you won’t either._

_I’m inevitable, brother dear, I’ve always been._

_And you’ll learn that soon enough, won’t you?_

He stepped up to the sliding doors made of retractable metal bars, catching snatches of a conversation between two wardens who stood by the reception desk.

“…fired three guards, all at once. No warning, just said they’d better start looking for another job, and showed ‘em all evidence.”

The second guard scratched the back of his neck, checking his watch. “Evidence of what?”

The first shrugged. “I didn’t hear the details. Evidence of past records they had, I guess? Enough to kick ‘em outta here. Funny thing, too. They all worked together. In the max security hall.” He jerked a thumb down said hall and Jerome raised an eyebrow. 

Luck was on his side. If the guards in his ward were being replaced, his odds were better than he’d thought. His mind began to churn with ideas, took into consideration the assets his comrades provided. 

The guards who were allowed to enter Jervis’s cell were required to wear headsets, otherwise he might manipulate them with his hypnosis. But if there was a new guard…one who didn’t know all the rules of the roost quite yet…

Well, Jerome could work with that very easily indeed.

He smiled slowly, wrapping his hands around the bars that surrounded the rec room. _Huh, looks like Gotham’ll be reintroduced to its favorite faces sooner than they all thought._

_This is too perfect to be true._

He didn’t realize yet how accurate the thought was.

 

\+ + + + + +

 

Bruce paced back and forth restlessly in the study, staring at the ground. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but he hadn’t been able to sleep more than an hour or two during the past few nights. He’d chalked it up to recovering from the ordeal of what he’d gone through with his “friends” and the guilt he carried surrounding that decision, but as time progressed, he began to realize it ran deeper than that.

It wasn’t just guilt he was feeling. If it had been, that would be bearable. Because he knew that time was behind him, and he could at least work to right the wrongs that had happened. He could _do_ something about it.

But beneath the guilt, there was a lingering, persistent uncertainty. 

Uncertainty that he had done the right thing in walking away from his best friend.

At first, it had seemed like the only reasonable option. He’d thought long and hard about how to make sure as many Gothamites as possible wouldn’t suffer the same fate as his parents…as many as _he_ could protect, that was. Just like he’d wanted to do, back when he’d put on that ridiculous suit he and Alfred had slapped together, exchanging blows with the occasional small-time thug and certain he’d been so very important. 

Except now, he liked to think he had somewhat more reasonable standards.

He wanted to protect his friends. Selina, he knew, could manage in any situation. She was street smart, and more often than not got _him_ out of trouble. Besides, Bruce never recalled a time when she’d encountered a problem and it had been his fault. 

But Jeremiah…well, that was different.

_Selina_ didn’t have a twin intent on killing her at every possible turn, didn’t live in constant fear that she’d be confronted by someone she’d spent her life avoiding. And so she was automatically safer. But Jeremiah _did_ worry about those things, and he couldn’t really be blamed for it, all things considered. Still, if that had been the complete picture, he and Bruce might have been able to continue on as they’d always done, as friends.

But Bruce knew, by simply being who he was as Gotham’s figurehead and as a influential member of the city, anyone he got to close to was living on borrowed time. He was the go-to target for countless plots, schemes, acts of revenge…the list went on and on. And he had learned, three years ago while standing face-to-face with Theo Galavan, a man he’d thought he could trust, that those people would use anything they could against him.

Including his friends.

Jeremiah didn’t deserve to be caught in that crossfire. He had enough to worry about already, no matter how Bruce had always tried to reassure him when it came to his paranoia over Jerome. He didn’t need that threat of danger looming over him anymore.

It had affected him too much already.

And Bruce couldn’t let his selfish wishes for their friendship to continue to hinder the reality that was right in front of him: he was endangering the other boy, as long as they could be associated with one another. It had happened before, and it _would_ happen again, unless he cut this off now. But that didn’t numb the sting of uncertainty, the fear that Jeremiah would take it the wrong way.

That he would think Bruce didn’t _want_ to be his friend.

It was the opposite, the complete opposite. Bruce was only doing this for Jeremiah’s safety, but he knew how the other always took things personally, no matter what. He had no doubt Jeremiah would interpret his decision to mean he was pushing him away.

And that was what caused Bruce to wonder if he had made the right choice.

_If you let him stay, if you don’t stop this, you’ll get him killed. He already has Jerome to think about…his own brother’s intent on murdering him at the first chance he gets. Don’t you remember what happened with Galavan? If you’d gotten there even a bit later…_ He shivered, remembering Jeremiah’s hesitant admission three years later that _he_ had been the one who’d killed his twin. 

_And really, you’re the one that forced him to do it. He had no other choice. Because of your carelessness._

That was blood on Bruce’s hands, just as much as Jeremiah’s. Because he had been the one who let his friend become ensnared in everything in the first place. 

_You didn’t think. You didn’t look out for him. You always promised him you’d keep him safe, you’d never let anyone hurt him…well, look what you did. And even when it was all over, you were too selfish to tell him to leave. To tell him he couldn’t stay, because it would only lead to more damage in the future._

And then Jerome had come back, and Jeremiah had been caught up between him and Bruce yet again.

It was a vicious, neverending cycle, and Bruce had watched his friend break apart piece by piece every time.

He couldn’t let him be a pawn in his game anymore. It wasn’t fair.

_You weren’t responsible for him before. You can’t let yourself be responsible for his death. This has to end before it’s too late, before you regret something you can’t fix._

_It’s come too close to that in the past, and you never know how many chances you have remaining. It’s best to be on the safe side, no matter what that may require of the both of you._

_And you can only hope he understands that._

But he thought back to the way his friend had looked at him when they’d met in the bunker, when Bruce had explained this very thought process as best he could. He thought of the way those familiar brown eyes had stared in betrayal at him, the way they’d darkened as disbelief and horror had flooded the other boy’s face.

He thought of the way Jeremiah had tried so hard to convince him to change his mind, to prove that simply being around Bruce wasn’t a danger in and of itself. How desperately he’d wanted things to stay the same.

And in his heart, he knew Jeremiah didn’t understand at all.

 

\+ + + + + +

 

Ecco would never say it aloud, because she knew it was unprofessional and overly emotional of her, but she could at least _think_ it. And think it she did, every minute, every second of every day as she wandered aimlessly around the bunker, wishing the silence wasn’t so loud, wishing she hadn’t been shut out of the workshop where she knew Jeremiah was drowning in his own misery.

She was beginning to hate Bruce Wayne.

And in a way, not being able to say it almost made the feeing grow stronger, more potent, because it was contained. There was no one she could tell. Jeremiah wouldn’t want to hear it…he wouldn’t want to hear _any_ mention of the kid now, if the way he’d been acting the past few days were any indication. He’d been so preoccupied with the things Wayne had said to him that he’d almost forgotten about their entire operation. The one he’d been so intent upon just days before, the one that brought out the side in him that Ecco had always wanted to see.

Now he was directionless, lost, and try as she might, she couldn’t drag him out of it. No amount of cajoling or encouragement would force Jeremiah to be himself again, and so Ecco had gone on with the plan, silently finishing up the final touches of it all, making sure the schematics ran smoothly, like a carefully-constructed machine. Of course, Jeremiah said nothing about it…not even when Ecco had shown him the headline on the newspaper she’d later brought to the asylum to leave handily in front of Jerome himself…but she tried to not let that discourage her. If he could see how much she’d done for him, maybe that would snap him out of it.

Still, she began to suspect he’d lost all enthusiasm for the plan he’d worked so hard on. He’d been so committed to it, so certain that it would be the end to his troubles; at least, as far as she could tell. And now there was nothing. He didn’t even speak to her. Just locked himself away in that workshop (she was beginning to hate that room too, almost as much as Wayne, it was the place Jeremiah went to hide from her when he was unhappy, and Ecco would always feel a little rejected at the fact). 

It wasn’t that she _wanted_ him to be overjoyed at the idea of doing something that wasn’t technically in legal territory…although she was willing to bend the rules for him if it would show that new, self-assured side she loved, she had _some_ semblance of a moral compass, and this didn’t exactly follow along those lines. But she wanted him to at least be proud of the fact that he had come up with such an ingenious scheme…no, _plan,_ “scheme” was such an ugly word…and take credit for what he’d done. After all, he had his own brother…the one he’d spent his entire life running from…unwittingly following his strategy to the T. That wasn’t something just anyone could do. 

After what felt like hours of walking back and forth in the endless blank-walled corridors of the underground labyrinth, Ecco found herself standing outside the workshop door. There wasn’t a single sound coming from inside, but she knew he was in there. She hoped he had maybe diverted his own attention with working on his energy project, but that was wishing for too much. She knew Jeremiah, knew how he obsessed over things, and no amount of distraction could interrupt his thoughts at those times.

With a stifled sigh, she sat down with her back to the wall, drawing her knees up to her chest and staring dismally at the closed door. If he would only give her the chance…just one chance to show him that she was what he needed. But he kept shutting her out.

No matter what she did.

Ecco closed her eyes, leaning her head back and waiting patiently to see if maybe Jeremiah would change his mind and start up on his plan again.

Somehow, though, she wasn’t sure he’d be the same.

On the other side of the door, Jeremiah was sitting slumped in the swivel chair behind the desk, staring vacantly at the blank monitors on the opposite wall. An untouched glass of whisky sat by his hand…he’d thought that maybe, despite his not-so-wonderful earlier encounters with alcohol, it would help him forget the things that Bruce had told him. But no, they were seared into his mind like a brand, burning with a pain that was very real…too real to mask with any sort of distraction.

He’d waited, all this time. First Bruce had gone missing, then he’d been consumed with his newfound task at protecting Gotham. And then, when that had gone wrong, he’d fallen even further away, but Jeremiah had still waited, because what else was there to do? Anything else was unthinkable…he’d known that from the start.

He’d waited, and now that Bruce was back, he was saying they shouldn’t be friends anymore.

At first, Jeremiah hadn’t believed it. Hadn’t _allowed_ himself to believe it, because he knew what would happen if he did. Bruce was the only thing he had left to hold onto when the voices in his head, the illusions of Jerome following him wherever he went, his crushing fear of his only remaining family, and everything else became too hard to ignore. If his friend abandoned him now, just when he was on the brink of the most life-threatening plan he’d ever created, just when he needed him the most, even if he could tell Bruce none of it…if he left, then Jeremiah had no one else to turn to.

Nothing to hold back the dark.

_You have to get him back. Somehow, some way, you’ve got to show him the one thing he’s never truly realized._

_How much you need him._

_How much you need each other._

_If you don’t show him that, it’ll be too late. Things have already changed, you’ve already changed. There’s no point in pretending otherwise, it’s blatantly obvious. But none of that matters, in the end, really, because you will always be his friend, you have to always be his friend._

_You have to._

_No matter what it takes, you have to._

_There’s no one else._

The energy reactor was untouched, had gone ignored ever since he’d last seen Bruce. It was as if it didn’t exist anymore…that was better than having such a painful reminder of what could have been.

Bruce could have been proud of him, he could have admired Jeremiah’s ingenuity, told him how important he was to Wayne Enterprises, to _Bruce…_ but no, that would never happen now.

_Not unless you get him back._

His plan involving Jerome had fallen to the wayside as well, and he didn’t even realize Ecco had continued on for him, working diligently to keep things running properly. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he vaguely remembered what he’d wanted to do, but suddenly it seemed much less important, much less of a life-or-death situation.

It didn’t matter.

_Important…no, there’s nothing important about that, what was the plan, anyway? Your grandiose scheme, what did it come down to? Nothing more than locking him away in a cell, locking him away so he can never get out, he’s here for safekeeping, you’ll always be able to keep an eye on him, always have him close, you could keep Bruce like that so he’d never escape you again…_

Jeremiah shook his head in a sudden, startled movement. He couldn’t let his thoughts get away from him. That was dangerous, in case he started listening to them. No, those were the thoughts of an irrational, desperate person, and he was _not_ that. His rationale was sound, and he wouldn’t compromise his sensibility because he was letting his emotions take control. 

_That’s much too dangerous._

He drew in a shuddering breath, half-heartedly reaching for the whiskey, but his hand stilled on the desk before he could pick up the glass. Even the smallest movement seemed pointless now.

He might as well not be anything, anymore.

Not when he was alone like this.

_Take him back, make him see the truth, you have to make him see. Whatever it takes, to prove that you need him…he needs_ you _…without you, he’s…_

_He’s not enough._

_Not complete._

_And neither are you._

He might have gone on like that all night if the motion sensor alarm at the front door hadn’t gone off. Jeremiah’s head jerked up, his eyes focusing on the screen that switched on, and got to his feet, wavering slightly. He hadn’t slept or eaten for longer than he realized, and it was beginning to take a toll on him.

It was easy to forget simple things like that when he’d been faced with the bigger problem of the things Bruce had said. His breath hitched in his throat and he felt his lungs constrict. The same panic he felt he tricked himself into thinking he saw Jerome…except this time, it stemmed from his friend’s betrayal.

Because it _was_ betrayal, no matter how good the intentions. Even if Bruce didn’t see it that way. It was betrayal at its worst, because Bruce thought he was doing the right thing, he thought he understood, and that meant he couldn’t be persuaded otherwise, he would never change his mind, no matter how Jeremiah tried…

_Focus._

Pressing the palms of his hands to the desktop to steady himself, Jeremiah blinked at the monitor screen, recognizing Selina’s face. That was something of a surprise…she’d come around the bunker less and less lately, busy with her new friends, no doubt. Whoever _they_ were. There had been a time where Jeremiah might have cared about that, but for some reason, in recent months, he’d felt a rift begin to grow between Selina and him. He wouldn’t admit it was because of Bruce…if anything, they should have banded together to get their friend back, just like they had years ago when that Silver St. Cloud had intruded on their little circle…but whatever it was, there was some sort of change. Jeremiah chalked it up to them being busy with their own lives, but a part of him, the part that instead on whispering the painful truth to him whenever he didn’t want to hear it, told him otherwise.

It _was_ because of Bruce.

Jeremiah didn’t envy their relationship, not exactly. He wanted Bruce to be happy, and if that was what made him happy, then fine. But he was worried about what the voice had told him once, a while back. Something he’d never been able to forget, no matter how hard he tried.

_She’ll take him away from you._

But that didn’t matter now, because Bruce was gone anyway. 

_And never coming back, not ever…_

Jeremiah pressed the button for the automatic front door, watching Selina step inside, and reluctantly slid open the workshop door as well. He stared down at Ecco, sitting in the hall. 

“What are you doing?” 

Her eyes flew open and she scrambled to her feet. “Oh. Um, I didn’t want to bother you, but I wanted to be here in case you needed anything, you know?” Awkwardly, she brushed nonexistent dust off her shirt. “Sorry, I—”

“Selina’s here.” he said, ignoring her fumbling attempts at an explanation. “I just let her in.”

Ecco looked skeptical. “What does she want? She hasn’t been over in a while.”

“I don’t know.” He leaned against the doorframe, pulling at a loose string in the cuff of his sleeve. Ecco noticed the dark shadows under his eyes. “But I have nothing better to do.”

“About that.” the assistant began slowly. “Don’t you want to know how the whole…” she cleared her throat, “…Jerome situation is going?”

“I assume everything’s working the way it’s supposed to.” he said tonelessly, looking like he couldn’t care less. Ecco hoped she didn’t look too disappointed.

“I left the paper right in front of him, he couldn’t miss it. And those old guards were fired, the newbies were stationed in the max security ward today.”

“Okay.” He stared at the wall.

“So things should be set in motion soon enough.” she finished with less enthusiasm than she’d started with. 

“Yes.” 

Ecco wanted to say more, to at least try and bring out a spark of that ambition she’d seen before, but Selina appeared around the corner and it was too late to pursue the subject. Instead, she turned away, disappearing into the living room.

“Hey, Miah.” Selina greeted the redhead cheerfully, the whip still holstered at her side. Jeremiah glanced at it disinterestedly.

“Hello.”

She frowned. “What’s wrong?”

_That_ got his attention. And with it, sudden, horrified realization. 

_Bruce said he couldn’t endanger his friends…_

_Not just one, all of them. Everyone. He was going to push them all away. Selina, you, everyone. That's what he meant, right? That’s what he had to mean._

But Selina looked _happy._ Jeremiah knew, if Bruce had said the same things to her that he’d told him, she’d be fuming right now. Just as desperate to bring him back. That meant, if he hadn’t told her…if he hadn’t told anyone else…

Something in his mind seemed to snap.

_He only told you._

The ground felt much less steady all of a sudden.

_It’s only you._

“Hey.” Selina tilted her head, confusion spreading across her face. “Are you okay?”

Jeremiah couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t see that happiness on her face. Not when he knew what it meant.

_Bruce didn’t push her away._

_It’s you, it’s only you, Bruce knew it would be only you, he knew it the whole time…_

_He doesn’t want to protect you._

_He wants to leave you behind._

And Selina…if Bruce was still letting her be his friend…

That meant he _did_ care about her more.

_And now she can steal him away. Now she can get what she’s always wanted…Bruce, all to herself. Hasn’t that been how it’s always gone?_ He couldn’t remember. He wasn’t sure, but something in his head convinced him that Selina _had_ only ever wanted him out of the picture so Bruce would be hers, and hers alone. 

_Isn’t that what happened?_

_She’s taking him from you._

But wasn’t Selina his friend, too? Not in the way she was friends with Bruce…they had something different between them, Jeremiah knew, but he’d thought he could rely on her for friendship whenever he needed. But no, she was going to keep Bruce away from him, _stealing_ him, he should have seen that coming, she was a thief, wasn’t she? 

He should have known this would happen.

Should have prepared.

_No…no no no, it wasn’t always like that. It wasn’t._ They had all been friends, at one point in time.

A long time ago.

And that time was gone.

_What if she isn’t trying to steal him…?_

_No, that’s exactly what she’s doing, she’s seen her chance and she’s taken it._

_They both want you gone._

It felt like a dark, impenetrable cloud had suddenly shrouded his mind.

“Jeremiah.” Selina’s voice was edged with worry. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

He finally looked at her, hating the way she didn’t look angry, because if she looked angry it would mean Bruce had rejected her too. He could have that reassurance he wasn’t the only one. But no matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t see it.

He _hated_ it.

_You hate her._

_No. No, I don’t. Don’t say that. Don’t try to make me think that. You know it’s not true._

“Nothing’s wrong.” he murmured. _Liar. Everything is wrong._

“You don’t look okay.”

“Why are you here?” He tried to sound normal, but his head was spinning and he couldn’t collect his thoughts. Selina looked confused.

“I thought you’d be happy.”

“To see you?” He couldn’t hide the biting scorn in his tone. He wasn’t trying to be rude, but that dark whisper of hatred wouldn’t leave him alone, and he couldn’t bear to think of her taking Bruce away from him.

Selina frowned. “No…you don’t know?”

He stared. “I don’t know _what?”_

“About Bruce…” She looked uncertain all of a sudden. “He’s all right again. Gave up the stupid brat act.”

“I do know.” His voice didn’t sound quite like his own, not _real_ , but then, was any of this real? Could it be?

“So why aren’t you happy?” she asked bluntly. Jeremiah’s hands curled into fists.

_She’s here to gloat._ he thought with sudden certainty. What else would she be here for? _She wants to show off what she has. What you don’t have._

_What she’s taken from you._

“I’m fine.” Why should he tell her anything? She didn’t deserve to know any of it. Nothing at all. She already had enough for herself. She had _Bruce._ “I said nothing’s wrong.”

“You don’t seem—”

“That’s all you came here for? To tell me about Bruce?” The name burned in his throat.

“Well, I thought…” Selina trailed off, shaking her head. “I guess I…”

“If that’s everything you needed,” he said cooly, “I don’t think you have any reason to be here.” The confusion on Selina’s face dissolved into irritation at his dispassionate tone. “Don’t you have places to be with your _friends?”_

_Because you have no trouble holding onto those._

“My friends?” she echoed, not understanding any of this. Jeremiah narrowed his eyes at her.

“Don’t you? You told me you’ve made friends around the city, helping you fight and whatever.”

“Just one friend, and she—”

“You get my point. Don’t you have things to do with her?”

“Tabitha doesn’t…” Selina began, then shut her mouth tightly. Jeremiah’s gaze snapped to her, wondering for a split second if he’d misheard. Or misunderstood. Yes, that was most likely it…he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. He knew he was being unreasonable, blaming her for what Bruce had done, but somehow, that didn’t matter. 

He didn’t care about being unreasonable.

And that name Selina had just spoken rang in his head, opening a floodgate of suppressed memories he’d never wanted to revisit.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.” she replied, too quickly. Jeremiah stared back at her, and he thought maybe his heart wasn’t beating anymore. He _hadn’t_ misunderstood anything. 

She wouldn’t do that, would she?

Not when she knew…

Not when she said she was his friend…

_Would she do that?_

“Your friend.” he said slowly, ignoring the tremor in his voice. The mental picture of a woman with a long ponytail, a whip at her side, and a dispassionate expression on her face flashed in front of his eyes, watching him, never attempting to help, never trying to stop what was happening.

_Never._

The picture became the image of a man with dark, merciless eyes, saying something about this _not being his fault, it was his way to Bruce Wayne,_ a voice he hadn’t heard in three years…

How Bruce had faced that man even if it was a risk to his own life, because that was what real friends were supposed to do…

“Galavan’s sister?” he asked shortly, already knowing the answer. Selina bit down on her lip.

“Jeremiah, she doesn’t…”

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Look, it’s not like I…”

“You knew.” he interrupted, never breaking eye contact with her. His hand twitched, but he didn’t notice. Everything suddenly felt very quiet. “You knew the whole time.”

Selina stepped back, away from him. Her gaze suddenly became more wary. “We both know what happened to you wasn’t _her_ fault.” He watched as her hand descended to hover above the whip. 

“Oh yes, very easy for you to say.” Jeremiah was surprised at how calm he was able to sound. He didn’t _feel_ calm at all. “You’d know all about that.” The sarcasm in his tone was deadly.

“I’m not saying I do, I’m only saying—”

“I know precisely what you’re saying.” He met her gaze with a dead-eyed stare. “I don’t think there’s any explanation necessary. It’s clear enough.”

“But…”

“I think you should go.” It wasn’t just a dismissal, it was a warning. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in the way his voice strained, like he was holding himself back. A warning for what, she didn’t know, but there was no denying that his feelings were warranted…that was inescapable, and they both knew it. Selina backed away.

“Okay.” she said quietly, subdued. Regret shone in her face, but Jeremiah ignored it. “I’m sorry, honestly, if there had been anyone else who’d helped me…”

“Don’t.” he cut her off, something dangerous flashing in his eyes. “Please, don’t.”

She nodded slowly, wanting to say more but knowing it wouldn’t make a difference. She’d torn apart the final threads that held their friendship together, and there was no way to piece them back into place. Selina gritted her teeth. Sure, she had plenty of justifications as to why Tabitha was allowed to be her friend…it wasn’t as if Jeremiah held control over her life, no matter what had happened to _him._ But somehow, watching the way he was looking at her, all those reasons disappeared. She couldn’t think of a single one to back her up, and could do nothing but turn away reluctantly, disappearing around the bend in the hall. Jeremiah stared after her, motionless, the darkness still lurking behind his eyes.

He was certain now that she’d come here to prove Bruce wanted her to be his friend even when he’d turned away from Jeremiah. And the information she’d let slip about Tabitha was just adding insult to injury. It was remorseless and harsh. 

Jeremiah turned away. _Two can play that game._

_You do hate her,_ something inside him whispered, and this time, he didn’t have the will to deny it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, anymore. What was the point?

“Hey.” Ecco rushed up behind him, breathless and pointing to the open door of the living room in the distance. “It’s on the news.”

Jeremiah blinked, the darkness clearing away. “What?”

“Just…come on.” She propelled him down the hall and into the adjoining room, nodding at the television screen as reporters’ voices snapped out the bulletin rapidly.

_“In what looks like a massive breakout at Arkham Asylum”_ they were saying, _“eighty inmates have been reported to have left the grounds after three maximum security prisoners managed to overcome security measures and escape. According to the GCPD, at least two guards were killed in the process, and multiple others injured.”_

Jeremiah stood stock still, forgetting all about Selina, and, for a moment, even Bruce. His gaze latched onto the screen, and he held his breath.

_“Civilians are advised to be on the lookout for these escapees,”_ the reporter continued, _“and if you witness suspicious behavior, please contact the police immediately. It appears the leader and organizer of this breakout is notorious criminal Jerome Valeska, joined by both Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch, both deemed severe threats to this city’s safety.”_

Ecco stared up at him. “We did it.” she murmured, but Jeremiah didn’t hear her. He kept staring at the television.

_He’s escaped._

_It’s really happening now._

_Jerome’s escaped._

He knew he was prepared…this was what he’d been waiting for, planning for, but he couldn’t ignore the deeply-set fear for his brother that had never gone away…never would go away, he thought. Jerome was following his plan perfectly, and completely unaware of the fact, but Jeremiah was still afraid.

_Don’t be an idiot. Things will work out…they will. In the end, it’ll come out all right._

“Eighty inmates.” Ecco said quietly, something close to guilt flashing across her face. Jeremiah frowned. He hadn’t wanted _that_ to happen…never dreamed his brother would care enough about anyone else to be so gracious as to release them from prison as well, but Jerome was a neverending source of surprises.

_You should have known better than that. You should have known he would have wanted to put on a show._

Something clicked, and Jeremiah rolled his eyes derisively. That was it. Jerome wanted an audience, he wanted someone he could perform to, and he knew if he freed the prisoners, they would follow him without question. 

Well, that would all change soon enough.

_See how well you can do that from a prison cell in an underground maze._

Ecco tapped him on the arm. “I’d better get over to the apartment.” she told him. “We have no idea when he’ll make his first move, and it’s best to be prepared. You think you can manage here alone? It might be a few days…impossible to tell.”

Jeremiah nodded automatically. “Go ahead.”

She hesitated. “When I said eighty inmates, I didn’t mean it was your f—”

“Ecco.” He finally turned to face her. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Okay…but you know I would do anything for you, right? No matter what, and I wouldn’t question it.” She was getting desperate now, she knew, grasping at straws, saying anything to gain his admiration. It was pitiful and naive, and she was half-glad when Jeremiah didn’t seem to pay her any attention. “I guess I’ll leave now.”

He nodded. “Right.” 

On the television, the news story continued, flashing choppy security footage of the breakout across the screen as the reporter droned on. It was followed by the asylum’s photos on file of the three inmates’ faces, Jerome stationary smile gleeful and maddening, as if he’d known what he was going to do. Jeremiah narrowed his eyes at the picture.

_You won’t be smiling like that much longer._

Outside the bunker, Selina stared up at the pitch-black night sky, peeking through the bare branches of the trees surrounding the house, and shivered. 

She wasn’t often intimidated, and when she was, she didn’t show it. Instead, she tried to ignore it until it went away, and then continue on like normal. She didn’t have time to be scared of anything, life was too short for that.

But she couldn’t quite shake the cold feeling that had settled over her like a fog.

There had been something in Jeremiah’s eyes tonight that was very, very unnerving.

 

 


	22. Playing Each Other

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

 

Jonathan flipped through the radio stations as Jerome swerved the stolen car he was driving around a corner, narrowly missing a cluster of jaywalkers. The redhead leaned on the horn, cackling loudly, and Jonathan winced.

“A little theatric, don’t you think?”

Jerome grinned at his own reflection in the rear-view mirror. “Says the guy who wears a bag on his head pretending to be a scarecrow.”

“That’s not—”

“And self-projects his own insecurities on the people around them through a fear toxin because he didn’t get enough validation from his father.” Jerome batted his eyes at his companion, who glared back at him. “You don’t see _me_ goin’ around scaring people cause my father didn’t love me.”

“First of all, you’re totally wrong about that. And secondly, you literally killed your own father for no valid reason whatsoever. I saw it in your information file when I stole it from the office.”

“Well,” Jerome amended with a shrug a moment later, spinning the steering wheel and directing the car through an intersection, “maybe a little bit, but still, at least I have a sense of style.” He prodded Jonathan in the side, sweeping a criticizing glance at his friend’s outfit, consisting mainly of his Arkham uniform and various burlap here and there, including his signature mask. 

“Watch the road!” Jonathan shouted at him as Jerome very nearly drove straight into the side of a building. 

“Sorry. Guess I was distracted.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get distracted while _I’m_ in the front seat too.” he snapped, turning back to choosing a song on the radio. Jerome clamped both hands on the steering wheel,rolling his eyes.

“Ugh, whatever.” 

A familiar voice came through the rattling speakers in the car, and Jerome slammed the heel of his hand into the volume dial, turning it down all the way until there was only silence. Jonathan squinted at him, but before he could inquire to the nature of the action, Jerome hissed, “Are you _trying_ to ruin everything?”

“What are you—”

“That was _Jervis,_ dumbass! You wanna follow his orders and go prancin’ on the rooftops like a looney bird? Or did you forget about that part of the plan? Wouldn’t put it past you, honestly.”

“I didn’t forget.” Jonathan said stonily. “I just didn’t realize he was already getting started on that part.”

“Of course he is.” Jerome scoffed. “Look, I’ve got what I’ve needed,” he waved a slip of paper in Jonathan’s face, with an address scrawled across it, “courtesy of those delightful folks at Wayne Enterprises, so someone’s gotta keep Jimbo and the rest of his pals busy while we make the next move.”

Jonathan, who had waited patiently outside in the car while Jerome stopped by Wayne Enterprises, allegedly to “ask a few questions” (he had emerged from the building with a bit more blood on his clothes than before, and a several fewer rounds of bullets in his shotgun, but by the smile on his face, Jonathan assumed he’d gotten the answers he’d needed, even if he’d had to kill a few people in the process) wasn’t exactly sure what his escapee companion was getting at. To tell the truth, Jerome had been strangely vague about the nature of this entire breakout, and while Jonathan wasn’t one to question an opportunity to get out of Arkham, he couldn’t help but begin to wonder Jerome’s real motivation behind all this. Surely it couldn’t simply be to escape, or even just to cause havoc…if that was all, they wouldn’t be careening through Gotham in a stolen car searching for a specific address to an apartment on the other side of town.

There was definitely more at stake here than Jonathan had first believed. His mind turned to the gas Jerome had him create a formula for…after their escape, he’d managed to get his hands on the proper components and had mixed up a few dosages…not enough for mass panic in the city, though. At best, it would be just enough for one or two people.

Something in his mind finally fell in place.

The gas, Jerome’s breakout plan, everything else…he wasn’t just trying to attack Gotham. This wasn’t like his last escapade with the power outage that had caused violence and citywide destruction. Sure, maybe something like that was _part_ of the plan, but only part. 

And it wasn't the part Jerome was focused on.

Jonathan glanced over his shoulder to the back seat at the vials of toxin he’d put together, carefully stored in a padded crate. 

This was a targeted attack on someone very specific.

“Jerome, where exactly are we—”

“No questions, don’t got the time.” He waved the inquiry off. “Say, that reminds me. Once I get to where I need to be,” he consulted the map spread out over the dashboard of the car, “I’ll need you to do a little job for me.”

“What is it?” 

“Jack-in-the-box.” Jerome grinned at him. “You’re gonna go get one for me."

Jonathan blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh, you heard me, Jonny-o. Get it, and rig it.”

_“Rig_ it?”

“With the gas!” Jerome explained impatiently, as if it had been obvious. 

“The gas? But how…”

“When it opens up, the little clown pops out and bang, there goes the toxin.” He demonstrated with his hands and Jonathan, at his wit’s end, leaned over to grab the redhead’s wrists and forcibly place his hands back on the wheel. “You can do that, right?”

“Of course I can. I just—”

“And wrap it up. Like a gift, you know what I’m sayin’?”

“A gift?”

“Put a tag on it too. Uh…” Jerome narrowed his eyes, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the wheel. “Oh! Perfect. Make it from Wayne Enterprises, okay? Like the company’s giving it, see?” He laughed. “Since he’s apparently so _accomplished_ now.” he added, mostly to himself.

Jonathan tilted his head. “I don’t understand why you want something like that.”

“That’s too bad, because it’s none of your business, and I don’t need to tell you.” Jerome mercifully slowed the car’s speed as he pulled up in front of a nondescript apartment complex and turned off the ignition. “But anyway, do that, then report back to me.”

“Jerome.” Jonathan called after him as he began to get out of the car. 

“What now?”

He dug through his pocket and produced a small circular dial. Jerome quirked an eyebrow at him. “It’s a tracker. I gave Jervis one as well. So I’ll know where to find both of you when we go our separate ways.”

“You could just call me.”

“With what phone?”

Jerome giggled. “Good point.” He took the tracker and pinned it onto the inside of his jacket lapel. “Does it actually work?”

Jonathan nodded. “It does. I have the piece that feeds the information here.” He patted his other pocket. “And the signal’s strong enough to pick it up from a good distance away. There’s a transmitter, too, so you can talk through it if you want. I don’t know how good the signal will be for that, but it should work okay.”

“Jonny boy, always so clever.” Jerome winked. “Well, happy now?”

“Where should I meet you after you do…whatever you’re doing?” Jonathan glanced up at the apartment building. All he knew about Jerome’s plan was that he was getting more confused by the minute. 

“Oh, just come back here once you’ve got the stuff.” Jerome shrugged. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Okay.” Jonathan shifted over to the driver’s seat and started the engine as Jerome turned away and pushed open the front door to the building. He was met by a narrow flight of stairs and started up without any hesitation, looking down at the now-crumpled address written on the paper he was holding.

“Xander Wilde.” he muttered to himself, stifling a laugh. “A front-page name right there. You’re not even trying to hide anymore, are you?” _So caught up in your fancy job workin’ for Brucie Wayne that you forgot all about me, is that it? Well, we’ll fix that soon enough._

_You don’t deserve to forget me, Jeremiah._

_Gotham doesn’t deserve to forget me._

He found the apartment number he was looking for, glancing around to make sure the hallway was free from prying eyes, then rattled a bent paper clip in the lock, listening for the click as it opened. He smiled.

_Couldn’t even think to buy a decent lock, huh?_

_I thought you were more clever than that…guess I was wrong._

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, whistling cheerfully. The apartment was darkened, like no one was home, and Jerome sighed.

Great. Now he had to wait around for Jeremiah to get back. Just when he’d wanted things to move quickly, too.

Leave it to his brother to be an inconvenience, as always.

Well, at least it gave him time to snoop around. Maybe get a laugh out of it. He began digging through the drawers in the desk that sat in the corner, raising an eyebrow when they were empty. Maybe Jeremiah had heard of the breakout—of course he had—and was trying to get out before Jerome found him.

_Too late, little buddy._

Still, if that was the case, Jeremiah had to be some sort of master at packing his things in record time. The desk wasn't the only thing that was empty…in fact, the whole apartment looked like no one had lived in it in the first place. There was a sparse scattering of furniture, but no decor whatsoever, no books on the shelves, no blueprints and maze drawings scattered here and there like it had been in the circus trailer when they were kids.

If he didn’t know better, Jerome would have thought he had the wrong apartment.

_He better not be trying to pull something on me._

But no, Jeremiah was too scared of him to attempt a trick like that. Wasn’t he? That’s what Jerome had assumed, at least.

_That’s how it’s always been._

He didn’t notice the girl standing behind him until it was too late, and before he knew it, there was a blow to the back of his head and everything crashed into darkness.

 

\+ + + + + + + +

 

Jonathan looked uneasily over at the jack-in-the-box sitting in the passenger’s seat. It was an ugly thing, that was for sure. Jerome hadn’t specified what he’d wanted it to look like, so Jonathan had gone for the most grotesque specimen of the toy he could find, in the back of a antique shop. It wasn’t hard…after giving the owner a good dose of his fear toxin, he’d had the place to himself. He’d dug the jack-in-the-box out of a pile of antiques to be restored, and now it was rigged with the special new gas he’d created.

He didn’t envy whoever the recipient of Jerome’s twisted plan might be. A dose of that stuff to the face, and even Jonathan wasn’t sure what it would do. Might outright kill them, he thought to himself, or plenty of other…unpleasant…effects.

He stopped in front of the apartment building, pulling the tracking device out of his pocket. He clicked it on and waited for the screen to light up, writing out the gift tag from “Wayne Enterprises” with his free hand in the meantime. When the map of Gotham City popped up on the screen, Jonathan turned back, expecting to see the red dot symbolizing Jerome’s location to be hovering right over his own, since he had said he would be waiting at the apartment until he got back.

But it wasn't anywhere near the apartment at all.

Jonathan looked closer. From what he could see, Jerome was making his way out of Gotham, toward the abandoned quarry that sat on the outskirts of the city. And moving fast, too.

“What the hell?” he murmured, more confused than ever. Surely there was a mistake there, Jerome wouldn’t abandon everything he’d just worked for all of a sudden, would he? Besides, even with the two-way speaker on the tracker, and Jerome had said nothing to him. He would never disappear into the blue without some sort of theatrics or explanation. He was unpredictable, but not stupid. And Jonathan knew he wanted to revel in the chaos he’d created. 

This wasn’t like Jerome at all.

He pressed his forehead to the steering wheel with a long-suffering sigh as he began to realize what had happened. Jerome Valeska, feared criminal with a kill list longer than anyone could keep track of, repeat escapee from Arkham Asylum, and cult leader, had gotten himself kidnapped by whomever he’d been planning on kidnapping himself. That was the only explanation.

Jonathan shook his head. Just his luck. If Jerome was missing in action and Jervis was unaware of what had happened, then it was up to _him_ to figure out what to do next. Great. All he’d wanted to do was to get out of that stuffy old asylum and maybe get back to work on his fear experiments, but no, that red-haired idiot had to go and do _this._

He spun the car around in the middle of the street, driving off toward the radio station where Jervis was currently being apprehended by Captain Gordon after hypnotizing hundreds of civilians. 

He was going to have some _very strong words_ with Jerome after this was all over.

 

\+ + + + +

 

“Jerome’s escaped?” Bruce stared at Selina in disbelief, and she nodded from where she’d just snuck into the study via the outside balcony.

“It’s all over the news. Haven’t you been paying attention?”

“No, I’ve…I’ve been busy with…” He gestured to the outline he’d sketched for a new bulletproof suit he was designing for Lucius Fox to make for him, unable to think of the right thing to say. He was still fixated on the shock of hearing Jerome had gotten out of Arkham yet _again._

Selina sighed. “Well, it’s not like you could do anything. I just thought you should know. Considering…well, considering everything.” She still hadn’t quite figured out what had gone on between her and Jeremiah the other day, and hadn’t asked Bruce about it either. Somehow, she knew that something had occurred between her two friends, and Jeremiah thought it was her fault. That was annoying, blaming her for whatever his problem with Bruce was, but easy enough to forget when she had other things to do. He would probably get over it soon enough…he wasn’t exactly the type to argue with anyone, in her experience, and although he could clearly hold a grudge through the years (Selina still felt a little bit bad telling him about Tabitha) she was certain things would go back to normal soon enough.

At least, that was what she hoped.

Still, she sensed that whatever had been bothering him was a touchy subject with the redhead, and most likely was with Bruce, too. So she refrained from saying anything about the other Valeska twin, focusing on Jerome instead. “Considering you were his first target last time, when he came back to life.” she clarified a moment later when Bruce continued looking at her almost expectantly. He turned away at that, and she saw a flash of regret cross his face.

“I wasn’t his first target.” he murmured, and she leaned closer to catch the words. “I was just the bait.”

“It was _your_ house he showed up at.” she pointed out, not sure what he was implying. Of course, she knew he was worried about Jeremiah in the midst of all of this, and was most likely referring to the fact that when Jerome had been revived, the first thing he’d set out to do was find his brother via Bruce, but this was a different situation. “You’re the one that should be on the lookout in case he decided to come back.”

“He doesn’t want me.” Bruce sounded so sure of himself that Selina realized he had given this subject a lot of thought already. “For all his dramatics and elaborate schemes and everything, Jerome’s always just really looking for something to do. He’s already targeted me twice before, I’m fairly certain he’s lost interest in me by now.” _But not in his brother._ the look in his eyes added silently.

Selina climbed over the back of the couch, absently picking up a chess piece that sat on the table, impeccably dusted and polished but out of use for a long time. She remembered, with her own twinge of regret, how Jeremiah had taught her to play the game those long years ago, and even if she wasn’t very good, she’d loved the feeling that she _belonged_ with her friends, like she was part of something other than herself. She’d never admit it, that was certain, and wouldn’t now, either, but there was no denying the fond memories she had.

_Why can’t we go back to that?_

“Well, the police are looking for him. Apparently he went to your company’s office earlier today, although no one knows what for.”

Bruce looked up sharply. “Wayne Enterprises?”

“Yeah. He—”

“Why did he go there?”

“I just told you, I have no idea. And neither does anyone else. I saw on the news they said he went straight into the middle of a meeting some committee was having, then killed them all. So there’s no way to find out what he wanted to know.”

He got to his feet hurriedly, picking up the phone on the desk and dialing a number. Selina watched him curiously. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, only tapped his fingers nervously against the desk. After a long moment, the dial tone stopped and the line went quiet. Bruce muttered something under his breath and punched in another number. 

“Bruce, what’s going on?”

“The Wayne Enterprises number was down. Figures.” That was all the explanation she got. A few seconds later, Selina heard a faint voice speaking on the other line.

“Captain Gordon.” Bruce said quickly, his shoulders tensing. “Are you busy, or can I ask you a question?” The voice said something Selina couldn’t hear, and Bruce nodded. “I promise it won’t take long. I just want to know about the attack on Wayne Enterprises this morning. I’m only hearing of it right now."

There was a pause, during which Bruce’s eyes flitted over to Selina, still holding the chess piece. “I know, I was just wondering what committee was targeted. I heard Valeska killed everyone in the room.” His voice wavered. Gordon said something else, and Bruce shook his head. “I don’t need the names, I only want to know…look, were they from the engineering department?” There was another pause, longer this time, and Selina glanced at her friend, noticing the way his face paled and his jawline grew tense. He nodded slowly at Gordon’s words, staring straight ahead of him.

“Okay. Thank you…no, I don’t need any other information, I was just wondering. Since it’s my company, you know? No, there’s no other reason…yes, I know, I’ll call you if he tries anything. But I don't think he will.” He hung up the phone and kept staring out the window, conflict playing across his face.

Selina leaned over the back of the couch. “What was that about?”

“Jerome’s going after him.” he said quietly, sitting down in the chair behind the desk. “He’s…that’s what he’s been planning. He went straight to Wayne Enterprises.” He finally looked over at her. “But how did he know that was the place he needed to go? He shouldn’t have known about the job…"

“Bruce, what are you talking about?”

“Nothing, I…I’ve just got to…” He buried his head in his hands. “This is the worst timing I could ask for. After I…”

“What was Jerome doing with your company?” she asked, trying to decipher what he was saying. “And why were you asking about the engineering department? Are you worried about Jeremiah?” Saying his name reminded him of the way he’d looked at her the other day, like he was warning her to get out before it was too late, and suppressed a shiver. 

It was nothing, she told herself. And he’d been mad at her about Tabitha. That was all.

It _was._

“Selina, I…I don’t know.” He wasn’t looking at her anymore. He seemed so caught up in his own thoughts that, if he hadn’t said her name, she would have suspected he’d forgotten she was there. “I don't know. I shouldn’t have…no, I _should_ have known. But I can’t go back, things will only get worse. And I promised…”

“You’re making absolutely no sense.” she interrupted impatiently. “And I have places to be. Ta…um, my friend, the one I’m working with now, we’ve got stuff to do, so I’m going to go.” She hoped he told her to stay, hoped he’d explain what was going on, but she knew he wouldn’t. When Bruce was preoccupied with his own troubles, there was no dragging him out of it.

He ignored her as she turned to leave, staring down at the desk with empty eyes. He’d been so hopeful he’d done the right thing, even with his uncertainty at how Jeremiah would interpret his decision, but now he only felt guilty. It didn’t feel like he was protecting his friend, it felt like he was abandoning him. Right when Jeremiah was probably terrified beyond belief at his brother’s escape, when he’d naturally try to turn to Bruce to protect him, but Bruce couldn’t help anymore, because it was too dangerous.

If he tried to help Jeremiah, he might end up leading Jerome straight to him. Considering how badly his efforts had ended up in previous attempts, he was likely to keep a consistent track record in that regard. And he couldn’t add more threats of danger to his friend’s life. 

He couldn’t do that, for the sake of his own conscience.

 

\+ + + + + + 

 

Jeremiah’s hand hovered over the switch for the newly installed security monitor, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. He had nothing to worry about…according to Ecco, everything had gone perfectly (she’d purposefully neglected to tell him about the death toll at Wayne Enterprises following Jerome’s visit to get the information he’d needed, wanting to spare him the guilt she knew would come with it). Jerome was safely locked away in the cell, everything was working properly, the police had no idea, and Jeremiah was safe.

But he was still afraid.

Of what, even he didn’t know.

Ecco had hovered silently behind him for a while after relaying how things had gone to him. Eventually he’d snapped at her to leave him alone, and she’d gone right away, casting a disappointed glance in his direction that hadn’t gone unnoticed. Jeremiah felt bad for being so curt with her…after all, she was the one who had done most of the work for him. But she left anyway, and he was alone in the workshop, still staring at the blank screen and still too scared to turn it on.

_He can’t do anything to you. That’s the whole point of all this. You have no good reason to be afraid anymore._

_And you never will._

_So just turn on the damn screen._

Drawing in a sharp breath, he shut his eyes tight and switched it on. The sound crackled through the speakers, and his eyes flew open again as he fumbled to turn the volume down before realizing it was only feedback.

Jerome was lounging comfortably in the corner of the room, his coat neatly folded in the corner as he stared curiously at the security camera. Jeremiah knew the lights on the camera itself had switched on as well, and had probably caught his twin’s notice. He braced himself for whatever was to come. Although Jerome was the one locked away in a carefully guarded room and he was the one controlling that, Jeremiah felt terribly helpless.

He didn’t feel in control, not in the least.

Somehow, he didn’t think he ever would.

“There you are.” Jerome said to the camera, and Jeremiah winced at the familiar voice that rasped through the speaker. “Took ya long enough to say hi.”

_Don’t let him get to you._

_You’re in control._

_You’re always going to be in control._

He said nothing back, firstly because his throat was so dry it was impossible to say even one word, and secondly because the speaker was one-way…he could hear what Jerome said, but Jerome couldn’t hear him. For a moment he wanted to turn the camera back off and try to forget that face that was grinning up at him without even a bit of fear in his eyes. But he wouldn’t. Jerome wasn’t going to hurt him.

“So, not gonna talk to me.” his brother continued when there was no response, clasping his hands behind his head, the very picture of relaxation. “Well, I can roll with that. It’s not like you ever have anything worth saying, anyway.” He kept grinning. Jeremiah flinched. How could Jerome possible know where he was or who had caught him? 

How did Jerome _always_ know?

“Oh, c’mon, Miah.” his twin laughed, and Jeremiah backed away from the monitor. He felt like _he_ was the one under scrutiny now. “This could only be your doing. Really, baby bro, you’ve outdone yourself this time. You're incorrigible, you know that? Guess you got it from me.” 

_As if._

“Incidentally,” Jerome said casually, never turning away from the camera, “mind tellin’ me where we are? I gotta feeling it’s not that dump where you had that cute blonde waitin’ for me. Say, is she your girlfriend? You two would be adorable together. Not that I’d know, cause I only saw her for a second before she bashed me in the head. Guess she’s what you’d call a real knockout, huh?” He laughed shrilly at his own joke. Jeremiah adjusted his glasses, glancing nervously over his shoulder to make sure Ecco hadn’t snuck back into the room without him noticing. 

“So, the silent treatment, eh?” Jerome asked after a long moment. “Don’t worry, I get it. Oh, how the tables have turned.” He got to his feet, up close to the camera, and Jeremiah stared right into his eyes, as if they were in the same room. A few moments later, he began to process what Jerome had said.

_How the tables have turned._

_What’s that supposed to mean?_

He didn’t have long to wonder, because his twin seemed intent on talking his head off all night, and jumped right into an explanation. “Now, let me think.” he said cheerfully, but with something malicious and cruel gleaming in his dark eyes. “When have I seen something like this before?” He squinted at the camera, scrunching up his face as he pretended to be deep in thought. Jeremiah suddenly wanted to turn the monitor off…whatever Jerome was about to say, he didn’t want to hear it.

But he was frozen in place, unable to do anything but listen.

“Really, Jeremiah, we’re back where this all began.” Jerome retreated back to the other corner of the room. “You, me, one of us locked snugly away in his own little prison cell. Familiar, right?” He grinned like a shark that smelled blood in the water. “It’s all a big show, and we’re playing each other now.”

He felt like something was pressing painfully down on his chest…he could barely breathe as Jerome kept talking. He wanted nothing but to turn off the camera, to forget what his twin was saying, but he couldn't move, couldn’t do anything, he was forced to hear it all…

_No…_

_No, it’s not the same, not at all…_

He tried to breathe again, certain this was what people felt like right before they drowned. He couldn't even think right anymore.

_It’s not the same._

_Not the same as then._

“Hey, do you have a closet full of fun stuff, too?” Jerome asked, mimicking a swing with a baseball bat. Jeremiah flinched. “Think of the games we could play, me ’n you! Oh, this is gonna be _fun!”_

_He’s trying to manipulate you._

_Trying to bring you down._

_Don't listen to him._

But listening to Jerome was all he could do right now.

“It’s sweet, y’know. I’m touched. They say imitation’s the sincerest form of flattery, and I am _very_ flattered, Miah. You wouldn’t believe it.”

Jeremiah tried to push away the memories that burned at the edges of his thoughts, slipping into his consciousness with terrible clarity.

_“Jeez, lighten up, why don’t you? You’re not gonna get anything out of looking like someone’s about to cut your throat. And besides, no one's planning on killing you just yet. So you’ve got some time to enjoy yourself. Course, that’s all a matter of perspective on what you think is funny or not.”_

He remembered thinking he would never escape that place, never escape Jerome, never see Bruce again…

_It’s not the same._

_He was going to kill you, don’t you remember that? And you’re not. You’re not doing that at all. You’re doing nothing aside from keeping him safely locked up. You’re just keeping yourself safe._

_Nothing more._

“Funnily enough,” Jerome was saying casually, the smile never leaving his face, “this happens to be working out just perfectly for me. I wasn't quite expecting you to be so gracious as to actually bring me to you yourself, but the world is full of surprises. Anywho, I thought you may like to know why I left Arkham. It was a beautiful breakout, by the way, let me tell you. Couldn’t have gone better if I planned it myself, which I did."

“Sure you did.” Jeremiah murmured sarcastically. Jerome obviously hadn't guessed the truth of his escape yet. 

“In any case,” his twin resumed, “I was looking for _you.”_

His eyes widened at that. Of course he’d known it the whole time…he’d told Ecco more times than he could count, and it was the reason he’d quietly helped arrange the breakout. It had all been because he knew Jerome was still intent on driving him insane and killing him, but hearing it from his brother himself…

_I wish Bruce was here._

“And as much as I’d love to reenact the good old days for memory’s sake, even with a bit of role reversal, I don't exactly have time to loiter ‘round this homey little place for long. I’ve got a city to destroy, and I hate getting off schedule.”

Jeremiah tried to keep the nerves at bay. Jerome could talk all he wanted, he wasn’t going to magically summon a key to find a way out of the cell…it was completely sealed off, with automatic locks and sliding door. Strong enough to keep him inside forever. In fact, Jeremiah hadn’t even bothered adding the padlocks onto the outside…he had enough faith in his own engineering abilities, and if anyone ever came by the bunker, he wouldn't want them getting suspicious if they saw that many locks on a door.

And even without them, Jerome would never escape. Not on his own, and not even with help.

_So talk all you want, try all you want, no one’s coming to save you._

 

\+ + + + + + +

 

It was nearly midnight, but Jeremiah couldn’t sleep. It was becoming a bit of a habit with him.

He’d eventually turned off the monitor earlier in the afternoon, not wanting to hear anymore of Jerome’s one-sided conversation that was obviously directed at him. His thoughts was still spinning from his brother saying that this situation was strangely similar to the incident with Galavan three years ago…of course, Jeremiah wouldn’t let himself see that Jerome was right _(because he’s wrong, that’s why)_ but it clung to his thoughts, echoed over and over again until it was the only thing he could think of.

_You haven’t become like Jerome. If he was in your place right now, and you were in his, you know what would happen. He would have killed you already, or tried to antagonize you into going insane. That’s his way of doing things…you’re nothing like that. It’s completely different._

Ecco had tried to distract him the rest of the day, and he knew she wanted him to get his mind off his brother before it consumed him. He wished he could tell her how grateful he was for everything she was doing for him, but somehow he couldn't think of the right words. So he settled for a smile whenever she looked at him, and she would smile back, her eyes lighting up with happiness. _At least,_ Jeremiah told himself, _she’s not mad at you for being so mean earlier._

But she’d gone to bed eventually, leaving him alone, and Jeremiah began to remember they weren’t the only ones in the bunker. 

Never would be again, as long as Jerome was still alive.

Ecco had brought the imprisoned Valeska dinner earlier on, through a slot in the door that could only be opened automatically as well, and he’d tried to bite her hand. Jeremiah had apologized over and over again when his assistant told him about it, but she brushed it aside. “It’s fine.” she’d said. “It’s not your fault, and besides, he didn’t do anything to me.” But Jeremiah hadn’t been appeased.

_Is this how it will always be from now on?_

Even with all his planning, he hadn’t thought very far. He hadn’t considered the future, only that Jerome wouldn’t be able to antagonize him anymore. But that was it…and he knew his brother, with his habit for causing trouble, would make life as difficult as possible for Jeremiah if he remained locked up here.

_Not if. There’s no question about it. He_ will _stay here._

All those thoughts kept tumbling through his head and he eventually gave up trying to sleep. Wandering aimlessly through halls of the bunker, his mind turned to something he’d thought of very little in the last day.

_Bruce._

_I wonder if he knows. If he suspects maybe…_

His friend wouldn’t figure out where Jerome was, would he? No, that wasn’t going to happen, because Bruce had pushed him away for good. Out of his life. If he came back only to incriminate his former best friend _(don’t say former, you can't give up hope that things might change, not yet)_ then everything really would be over between them.

There would be no going back from something like that.

He trailed one hand against the wall as he walked. _When did it all become like this?_

Things had used to be normal. Nearly normal, at least. 

_Too late to go back now._

His hand brushed up against cold metal and he froze, staring up at the sliding door that was tightly shut against the frame. _Oh, great. Just the place to end up._ Pursing his lips, he began walking again, then jumped in surprise, a gasp of fear escaping his lips as something slammed against the other side of the door.

“Miah, ’s that you?” Jerome’s voice, no longer distorted by the mechanisms of the speaker in the workshop, came from behind the impenetrable metal. “I know it is. No one else sneaks ‘round their own house in the middle of the night.” There was a pause. “Is this even a house? Looks a bit more like Area 51 in here to me.” Now there was a tapping on the other side of the door. "You know that Hugo Strange guy? Nah, of course you don’t, you weren’t in Arkham like the rest of us lucky folks. This looks like the room he’d do his special electroshock games in.” The words were followed by a delirious-sounding giggle. “He'd like you.”

Jeremiah was silent. He didn’t want to talk to Jerome, and he didn't want to listen to him ramble on about whatever came to mind, but for some reason, he couldn't leave. Maybe because it was the only way to think of something other than Bruce, and he would welcome any sort of distraction, or because he wanted to know what Jerome was thinking, locked up in there…in any case, he still didn’t move.

“Y’know, come to think of it, I made a lot of pals in Arkham that you’d be friends with.” Jerome went on. “They think like you, Miah. Like to plan things. Like to use their heads.”

“They’re also criminal lunatics.” he replied before he could stop himself. Jerome gave a low chuckle.

“Oh, so you _are_ there. Thought maybe you’d fallen asleep. Not feelin’ chatty tonight, is that it?”

Jeremiah wondered for a moment what would happen if the door _did_ open and Jerome got out. He didn't even want to think about it. Because it wasn’t going to happen.

“Did the blonde tell ya about what I did to her earlier?” There was a muffled laugh. Jeremiah frowned.

"She was only trying to give you something to eat. You shouldn’t have tried to hurt her.”

“Ah, she was fine. Probably liked it, she seems kinky like that.”

“Oh, shut up, Jerome.”

There was a dramatic gasp. “Me? I’m offended, Miah. You give me nothin’ to do in this place, don't talk to me, and now you tell me to shut up? Can’t a guy have a little fun?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Ooh, you’d _rather I didn’t.”_ Jerome mocked him. “I don't really care what you want, Jeremiah. What’re you gonna do about it, come in here and teach me a lesson? You’re too scared for that.”  
“I’m not going to let you trick me into helping you get out of there.” Jeremiah said stonily. “You can’t provoke me into setting you free.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” his brother said with a smile in his voice. “I don’t need _you_ to rescue me.”

Jeremiah paused at the inflection in his tone. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“I'm sure you’ll see soon enough.”

He glared at the closed door. “Stop playing games. You’re not escaping that cell, and you know it.”

“Whatever makes you happy.” Jerome said placatingly. Suddenly, there was a beeping sound from inside the room, followed by footsteps and a rustle of fabric as he picked up his coat. Jeremiah stepped closer, listening.

“What was that?” he asked cautiously, just as the beeping stopped. One of the overhead lights seemed to flicker, but maybe that was just his eyes. He _was_ tired, he realized, and should at least try and sleep for a few hours. But first he needed to find out what that sound was.

“Oh, this? Nothing much. Only a tracker.” Jerome laughed maliciously. His twin caught his breath.

“A what?”

“Tracker. Y'know, like, for people to come find me if I get lost. Or kidnapped by my beloved baby bro.” 

Jeremiah backed up against the opposite wall. “You’re lying. No one knows you’re here.”

“Why would I lie?” Jerome asked reasonably. “Quick question, by the way. If the power were, say, to go off, in this place, would that open this door?”

The answer was yes, as the door was automatic and geared by electricity, and a power outage would kill the connection, but Jeremiah wasn’t going to tell him that. “Why would you care?”

“Good enough.” There was a click, and Jerome spoke into the transmitter on the tracker. “Hey, try cutting the power."

Mere seconds after he spoke, before Jeremiah could think to do anything other than stand there in stupefied horror, the lights flickered again, then the entire hall was plunged into darkness. He stumbled back, pressed up against the wall, staring in terrified anticipation at the door.

_Run, get out of here,_ his thoughts were screaming at him, but he couldn’t move.

Then, without a sound, the door slid open smoothly, disappearing into the wall alongside it like an opening elevator. Jeremiah stared mutely at the shadowy figure on the other side, watching him with hands clasped behind his back.

_No, this isn't happening, this can't happen, no one’s supposed to know…_

_This was supposed to work._

_It has to work…_

_What went wrong?_

Jerome stepped forward without any real hurry, and Jeremiah gave a strangled cry, backing away before he turned and started running, disoriented with the lights off and raw fear surging through his mind. He heard footsteps behind him, but he didn’t dare to look back, because then Jerome would catch him, he _would,_ and this was just like it had been three years ago, just like when he’d tried to run away, but he never really could escape, could he, because Jerome would always find him.

_It’s your house, you know this maze, you have to lose him._

But Jerome was too close behind to lose.

For a moment, Jeremiah thought for certain they were in the alley again, the moon shining faintly above, the city sounds all around them, and he was running away from Jerome just like then, and even if his brother didn’t have a weapon this time, he was still Jerome, and he would still kill him.

Something grabbed him by the back of his collar and jerked him backwards, and Jeremiah’s hands flew to his neck, trying to disentangle himself from the grasp of his pursuer.

_No, let go, please let go, it can’t end like this._

Jerome spun him around so they were standing eye to eye, taking in every detail of his brother’s face, or at least as much as he could in the darkness. “Still dress like a twink, I see. Very cute.”

Gathering up his courage, Jeremiah shoved him away, but Jerome caught onto his arm and dragged him back. “Oh no, nice try, but I’d rather have you stay here. In fact, just to make sure you don’t run off…” He raised his hand, clenched into a fist, and Jeremiah couldn’t move before the side of his face exploded with pain and the world turned to blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to add in the Area 51 reference because uh current memes demanded it sorry


	23. Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Tags for this fic have been updated btw!)

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

 

He awoke groggily, trying to focus his eyes as he fumbled for his glasses. They were lying by his hand, miraculously not broken, and he pushed them up onto his face, looking around as a headache pounded behind his eyes. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was…the lights were back on, but all he could see were blank grey concrete walls stretching far into the distance both ways. Jeremiah sat very still, pressing a hand to the side of his face, trying to work out what was happening. 

_Bunker. You’re in the bunker. The one you built._

_Built it to hide…_

_Hide from…you’re hiding…_

_From Jerome._

His eyes flew open wide and he scrambled to his feet. The ground seemed to surge up underneath him and he fell back to the ground, his back thudding painfully against the wall, knocking the breath out of him. He hung his head, staring at the floor and willing it to stop moving.

_Jerome’s here._ was the next thought to enter his muddled head, and he looked up again, getting up much more slowly this time. He pressed the palm of his hand to the wall, realizing the side of his face was aching and he could feel it bruising beneath his eye. 

_He’s here, he’s in the house._

Jeremiah was at a loss of what to do. The bunker was specifically designed to confuse anyone who tried to get in uninvited until they were lost. Jerome surely couldn't have found his way out by himself. 

_Get to the workshop. You can find him on the monitors. Figure out where he is._

That was the first clear thought that had formulated in his head, and it seemed like a good idea. Drawing a shaking breath, he looked around, trying to remember where he was in the maze.

“Two lefts, then a right, then another left.” he mumbled to himself, fixing his glasses which sat askew on his nose. His steps were hesitant, and he could only hope he didn't run straight into his brother on his way to the workshop. If he did, he knew he wouldn’t be able to escape. 

And then Jerome would kill him.

That gave rise to the question Jeremiah hadn’t been able to puzzle out yet: why wasn’t he dead yet? Had Jerome tried to kill him and not hit him hard enough? Or had he wanted him to stay alive? If that was his plan, then why? Why hadn’t he simply killed Jeremiah and left it at that?

His brother’s words drifted back to his memory.

_I was looking for you._

His pace quickened until he was almost running, turning the last corner to the hall leading to the workshop and nearly crashing into a ragged figure that glared at him with dark eyes hiding behind a formless burlap mask. Jeremiah staggered back, staring in soundless horror at the monstrous form, and his eyes darted to his companion, a man with a tilted top hat and strange eyes.

_How did they get in, this place is supposed to be safe, it_ was _safe, so how…_

There was a low cackling from behind the two figures who stood shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the corridor, and they parted, stepping to the side as Jerome emerged from the workshop, dusting his hands off. He locked eyes with his brother, stepping up so close that Jeremiah could feel his breath on his face. His eyes were glassy with fear and disorientation, and Jerome patted his cheek lightly. Jeremiah flinched away.

“Aw, don’t be scared. These guys are my buddies.” Jerome pointed to his two companions. The man in the mask waved a hand, and when the other shot him a look, he put his hand down, resuming his glare. “They won't hurt you.”

_They’re not the ones I’m afraid of._ But he wouldn’t give Jerome the satisfaction of admitting _that._

“Go on, fellows.” Jerome waved them aside, and the pair wandered off around the corner. Jeremiah watched them go, then turned back to his twin, who leaned against the wall casually, one hand in his coat pocket. 

“Sorry about them, they can be a little dramatic sometimes.”

“How did you…”

“Find my way to your little super secret nerd club?” He nodded to the doorway of the workshop. “It wasn’t too hard. I watched you draw those dumb mazes all the time when you were little. Figured this would be based off one of ‘em. Guess I was right.”

“Are you here to kill me?” he asked in a hushed voice, unable to suppress a shiver when Jerome stepped even closer. There was a gleam in his eye like he’d seen on the screen the night before. 

“Nah. That would be boring, and I don’t like boring. You know that.”

“So what do you want?” Jeremiah tried to sound brave, but it was hard when Jerome was staring at him like that. Besides, what was the use when his twin knew perfectly well he was completely terrified? There was no point in hiding from Jerome.

“You’ll see soon enough.” He poked his head into the workshop and whistled through his teeth. “Hey, sweet stuff, come on out.”

Jeremiah bit down hard on his lip when he saw Ecco emerge from the doorway, his entire body tensing. _Jerome, no, you can’t, you can’t drag her into this, this has nothing to do with her, just leave her alone…_

_Please, please just leave her alone._

The assistant was looking at him, but she didn’t seem afraid. In fact, her entire expression was strangely controlled, not even a single twitch of her facial muscles disrupting her expression. Jeremiah stared back, at a loss of what to do. 

“My buddy Jervis Tetch worked his magic on your girlfriend, so she’ll do anything I say.” Jerome slung an arm over Ecco’s shoulder, and Jeremiah wished uselessly he had the courage to stand up to his brother. To _do_ something, to help…

Jerome’s words finally worked their way through his mind. “She…” Jeremiah shook his head, more confused than ever. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I dunno how he does it either, but hey, who am I to question talent? And the point is, she ain’t gonna sneak up behind _me_ again, cause now we’re friends, right, blondie?” He grinned at her.

“Yes.” Ecco's voice sounded almost robotic, and Jeremiah looked at her with wide eyes. It was hypnosis, he realized, and his heart sank. How was it even possible…how had Jerome broken through all his precautions and preparations with no effort whatsoever? Jeremiah had been so sure his plan would work, he hadn't even let himself consider what would happen if it didn’t, but somehow it had, and he wasn’t prepared for this at all.

“Leave her out of this.” he willed himself to say, his voice quivering. “Please, Jerome, she’s not…”

“Pathetic.” his twin sneered. “You’re pathetic, you know that?”

Of course he knew it, it was the exact thing he always told himself, but hearing it from Jerome sparked something defensive and angry inside him. _It’s not pathetic to be scared of the one person’s who’s spent his entire life trying to kill you! What else are you supposed to do, laugh in his face? Any reasonable person would react like you. It’s him who doesn’t understand. He’s never been able to understand._

“Can you please just tell me what you want?” Jeremiah asked quietly, never taking his eyes off Ecco. She had always been there for him, always looked out for him, always cared about him, and he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to stop this, how to stop Jerome.

“I think _I’ll_ start with a question.” was Jerome’s response. “What exactly was your plan here? You’ve obviously thought about it enough to build a personalized prison cell in your own house.” He let go of Ecco and pushed her aside, looking intently at his brother. “And you knew I’d go to the apartment. _That’s_ what I’d like to know.”

Something that might have been smugness flitted across Jeremiah’s face, despite the fear that shone in his eyes. Because no matter what was happening now, Jerome _had_ followed his plan perfectly, without even knowing it. 

He’d succeeded in that, at least.

“Why?” he asked, noticing the way Jerome’s eyes narrowed at him. “Why do you want to know? Is it because you can’t bring yourself to realize I tricked you?”

“Tricked me?” His twin laughed hoarsely. “That’s a good one, bro. I knew exactly what I was doing.”

“I’m sure you thought you did.” Jeremiah retorted, lifting his chin. There was a dangerous glint in his twin’s eyes, but for some reason, he almost reveled in seeing it. He was still afraid, but a little bit triumphant too.

Jerome hadn’t _completely_ won this time.

“Quit playin’ games.” he snapped, stepping closer to his brother again. Jeremiah reflexively moved back. “Tell me what ya did.”

“You never answered my question. Why do you want to know?”

Jerome’s hand shot out and latched on to the collar of his twin’s shirt, dragging him close. Jeremiah sucked in a sharp breath, confidence dissolving just as quickly as it had appeared. “So you wanna play that game.” his brother hissed in his face, tilting his head like a bird of prey staring down a mouse. “Looks like little Miah grew a backbone after all.”

_Don’t kill me, don’t kill me, please don’t kill me…_

“Jerome.” he managed to whisper, his voice deserting him as his twin’s stone-cold eyes bore into him, “Please…I’m sorry. I’ll tell you, I…”

Jerome shoved him away. “Aw, what a disappointment. Y’know, I woulda been impressed if you kept up the act. Really, I would.”

Jeremiah looked over at Ecco, hoping against hope that maybe she would find some sort of way to snap out of the hypnosis, maybe help him take down Jerome. 

He couldn’t defeat his brother alone. He knew that all too well. Even after outright killing him, Jerome still came back. Still broke him down.

And he always would.

“Oh, well, doesn’t matter. To business.” Before Jeremiah could blink, Jerome whipped out a gun from behind him, pointing it in his brother’s face. “We don't have all day.”

Jeremiah stared, paralyzed, at the weapon. He felt like his lungs were being crushed, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Time seemed to slow to a standstill, his heartbeat nonexistent and his senses shutting off as pure, primal fear took over him. The only thing that was able to cross his mind was a memory, clear as a photograph and painfully _real._

One that crept its way into his thoughts much too often.

His brother, standing over him, silhouetted in the far-off city lights, pointing a gun at his face. The horror that had rushed through him as he realized he’d been trapped. The mind-numbing pain from the gunshot wound in his side, and even worse, the defeat that broke down his final defenses after trying to be hopeful for so long.

Jerome threatening to kill him in that dark alleyway unless he admitted the _“truth.”_

Unless he gave in to his brother’s demands.

His _insanity._

_“You want me to shoot you again? Maybe in the head this time?”_

And even if they weren’t the same, even if Jeremiah didn’t believe it then and he _didn’t_ believe it now, he’d been forced to say it was true. 

_“What are we, Jeremiah? Tell me what we are.”_

Jerome was still staring at him, expectant, waiting. He knew what was going through his brother’s head, and the smile on his face grew wider.

_“The same. You and me, we’re the same.”_

_You know it wasn’t true. You know it was a lie. You’ve never believed it, it was self-preservation, and nothing more._

Jerome inched closer. Jeremiah stumbled back, up against the wall.

_Please, please put the gun down._

_Please don’t hurt me._

“Oh, come on.” Jerome rolled his eyes, finally, mercifully, lowering the weapon. Jeremiah tried to breathe again. He looked over at Ecco, who was watching dispassionately. He felt a sob rise up in his throat…even she couldn’t help him now.

He was alone.

“I’m not gonna kill you yet.” Jerome continued, as if it had been obvious. Jeremiah didn’t dare believe him…his brother could be playing tricks on him, lulling him into a false sense of security only to turn the gun back on him and that would be the end of everything. “How many times must I repeat myself? You get to die when I say you can, but not before you embrace the freedom you’ve been ignoring all your life.”

“Insanity.” Jeremiah supplied, his voice scarcely audible. “Why would I do that, if I know you’ll just kill me after?”

“Oh, don’t go off about all that logic stuff with me.” his twin interrupted. “Besides, I’m not here to argue with you. In fact, I’m surprised _you’re_ brave enough to try something like that, what with you being threatened with a gun in your face and all.”

“You just said you wouldn’t kill me.” he pointed out. 

“No, but I could still make you regret your own life.” Jerome pressed the barrel to his brother’s shoulder, and Jeremiah flinched at the touch. “If I pull the trigger, you won’t die, but I can promise you ain’t gonna be happy about it. Just a reminder about who’s _really_ in charge here.” He smiled. 

“Jerome, please…”

“Oh, right, this is the part that you beg me to spare you, to leave you alone. When will you _ever_ learn? Did I leave you alone in all those years I was dead, after _you_ killed me?” He studied Jeremiah’s face, which instantly gave away the truth. “Ah, so I was right. You still thought about me, you were still _afraid._ I knew it.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“Are you trying to get me to hurt you?” Jerome growled in his face. Jeremiah’s eyes went wide and he shook his head mutely. “That’s what I thought. Now,” he turned back to Ecco, who was standing very still in the corner of the hall, watching with a blank expression, “like I said, to business.”

_Why does he come back?_

_Why does he always come back?_

“It may interest you to know,” Jerome continued as he spun the barrel of the handgun in one quick motion, then locked it into place, “that I happen to be an _expert_ when it comes to this little game we’re gonna play. Call it luck, or fate, or whatever you want, but I always come out on top. Lucky me.” He grinned. Jeremiah stared at the weapon, immobilized with fear.

_Tell me what you want, please, just tell me. I’ll do what you want, I really will…_

“You want a demonstration?” his brother continued, pressing the end of the barrel to his temple, eyes gleaming with excitement. Jeremiah blinked, confused, and still said nothing. Jerome’s finger hovered over the trigger. “Maybe a little set-up first. I’m guessing you’re not exactly experienced in how the game works.” 

“If you’re going to blow your head enough, it sounds simple enough to me. And I won’t complain.” Jeremiah retorted, hoping that wouldn’t irritate his twin to the point of shooting _him_ instead. Jerome snorted in laughter.

“Looks like you’ve got a funny side to you too, broski. Who woulda thought?” His voice dropped again, and his grip tightened on the handle of the gun. “There is one bullet in the chamber. Only one. Could be in the next one that shoots, could be somewhere else. _I_ certainly don’t know. No one does.” His smile grew wider, more deranged. “That’s the fun of it.”

And before his twin could move or speak a word, Jerome pulled the trigger. 

Jeremiah shut his eyes automatically, cringing at the deafening shot he knew was to come, but there was nothing but a faint click. Slowly, he looked back up, and saw Jerome still standing in front of him, alive as ever, smile still in place. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until his lungs began to burn.

Unruffled, Jerome held out the gun. “Your turn.”

Jeremiah backed away, his face turning sheet white. “No, you can’t…”

“Would you _stop_ telling me what I can’t do?” his brother’s voice rose higher. “ _I’m_ in charge here. Take the gun.”

There was a dangerous edge to the command in his tone, one Jeremiah didn’t dare ignore. But it didn’t suppress his basic survival instincts, and he couldn’t even force himself to reach out and take the pistol. He had no idea if Jerome was telling the truth about the one bullet…he had no idea about anything.

_What if this really kills you?_

But if he didn’t listen to his brother, he might die anyway if Jerome lost patience with him.

His hands shook as he took the gun silently, black spots flashing in front of his eyes. _You have to risk it, you have to if you don’t want him to kill you._

_But if the bullet’s in there…_

“We don’t have all day.” Jerome pretended to check an invisible watch. “And I’ve got a city to burn down. So if you don’t do it yourself…” He trailed off, stepping forward and Jeremiah moved away from him, holding the gun out of his reach. A sudden thought flashed through his head.

_You could shoot him._

_You have the weapon now. He’s unarmed._

He remembered the alley, the way Jerome had aimed the gun at his head, forced him to say they were the same…

_If you shoot him now, you’ll become like him._

His grip faltered and his gaze dropped from his twin’s face. Jerome sighed exaggeratedly. “You’re makin’ such a big deal outta this, Miah. Really, I’m doing you a favor, ain’t I? If ya don’t shoot yourself in the head, you get to live. And if ya do…” He shrugged. “Well, then at least you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing _I_ didn’t do it.”

“ _That’s_ comforting.” he muttered.

Jerome smiled angelically. “You’re welcome.”

_This is how you’re going to die. Hidden away in an underground bunker, where no one knows how to find you. You haven't even had the chance to make a name for yourself. To be someone better than Jerome, someone greater. You haven’t been able to prove him wrong._

_And now it’s too late._

“I thought you didn’t want to kill me.” he tried, a note of desperation in his tone. “I thought you said something about…about wanting me to become like you. I can’t do that if I’m dead.”

“You think you’re _not_ like me?” Jerome countered. “We’re _identical,_ Jeremiah. We’ve always been the same.”

“Not like that, we haven’t. You’ve never managed to drive me insane, no matter how hard you tried.”

“Can you _imagine_ living in such denial?” He turned to Ecco. “He still won’t admit it.”  
“If I die now,” Jeremiah continued, “you’ll never be able to prove that.”

Jerome shrugged. “Better hope that's an empty chamber, then.”

His shoulders slumped in defeat. There would be no convincing, no reasoning with his twin to change his mind. “How do I know the bullet’s not going to…”

“You _don’t!”_ Jerome interrupted, exasperated. “That's what makes it _fun.”_

“But…”

“If you don’t pull that trigger in three seconds, I’ll pull it for you.”

_You can’t, you can’t do it, the bullet could be in there, you don’t know what’s going to happen, you don’t know if it’ll kill you…_

_If you die here, no one will remember you._

_They’ll remember Jerome, but they won't remember you._

_You’ll be forgotten._

“One.” Jerome sang out, taking a step closer to Jeremiah.

_You’ll never finish your project, Wayne Enterprises won’t be able to create the energy converters and they’ll throw those plans away and Bruce won't ever know how much you could have helped his company…helped this city…_

_No one will know._

“Two.”

_And you’ll never see Bruce again. If you die now, it’ll be too late to bring him back to you. You’ll be separated forever._

_Forever._

His hand closed around the gun tightly.

_You’ll be alone._

“Three.”

Jeremiah shut his eyes and pulled the trigger.

 

\+ + + + + + + +

 

Bruce stared at the endless stream of police cars reporters crowding the entrance to Arkham Asylum and felt his heart sink. This was worse than he’d imagined. When Selina had told him Jerome escaped, she hadn’t mentioned it wasn’t just him. Listening to snatches of the news reports that were being filmed all around him as he wove his way through the crowd, he realized a total of eighty inmates in all had broken out of their confinement and were now running loose in the streets. The police had caught only about a third of them, which still left plenty of convicted murderers and criminals to roam the city until they had been apprehended. Bruce shook his head.

_Why would he do this?_

He knew the answer, of course. It wasn’t even worth asking in the first place. Bruce knew Jerome reveled in chaos, in the destruction that came as a result of it. And he constantly craved being in the spotlight.

_Well, he got what he wanted._ The now-familiar grinning face was plastered across every report, every news bulletin, every police file in the city. He was everywhere now, everybody knew his name. 

It was exactly what he had wanted.

Bruce caught sight of Jim Gordon standing in a huddle of officers near the huge front doors of the asylum and hurried over to him. The police captain was absorbed in explaining the situation to them, and didn’t notice the young billionaire’s presence until Bruce cleared his throat quietly, barely audible among the voices and shouting around him. Gordon’s attention snapped to him right away.

“Bruce, what are you doing here?”

“Captain Gordon.” He pushed past the officer in front of him, and the others in the group stared at him disinterestedly, preoccupied with everything else that had happened. “Can I speak to you when you have a moment?”

“Yeah, okay.” Gordon sounded distracted, and his expression clearly said he disapproved of Bruce being here. “Just…wait over there, okay?” He motioned to the front steps of the building. Bruce felt a little bit like a kid being snubbed by adults who were trying to have a serious conversation, pushed aside because there were more important things to talk about, but he obeyed. After all, he couldn’t blame the police captain for being overwhelmed with everything that was going on. This was the largest breakout from Arkham that the city had ever witnessed, and if Jerome was leading them, no one would be able to predict what the next move would be.

Except Bruce, who had a fairly good idea of what the murderous redhead wanted.

The entrance of the asylum was blocked off with copious amounts of yellow police tape that fluttered in the wind, and inside, he could see the shadowy figures of forensic detectives milling around, searching for anything that would assist in the case. He sat down on the cold stone steps, moving off to the side when another wave of detectives brushed past, and waited for Gordon.

It felt like hours later when the man finally turned back to him, even if it had only been a few minutes. Bruce shot to his feet, brushing off his coat. Gordon rubbed a hand over his eyes, looking exhausted. “What did you want to see me about?”

Bruce hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was pushing too far past the boundaries he’d set for himself. If he was letting his concern distract him from the promise he made. _Don’t involve yourself too much. Don't put him in danger trying to help._

He cleared his throat, shifting his feet on the pocked concrete steps. “It’s about Jeremiah.”

“Jerome’s brother?” Gordon asked, raising one eyebrow “He wasn’t part of this, was he?”

He shook his head quickly, unaware that Jeremiah had been very much involved. “No, no, of course not. You know he wouldn’t do that.”

“I don’t know anything about him, and you know that, Bruce.” Gordon said seriously. “I don’t even know where he is anymore, since you refused to tell me.”

“He didn’t want me revealing where he lives. He thought Jerome would find him if anyone learned of it. But it’s not like he has anything to hide from you.”

“If he wasn’t involved,” Gordon returned to the topic, glancing impatiently over his shoulder, “why did you mention him?”

“Jerome’s escaped.” Bruce began to explain.

“I’m well aware of that.” The former detective’s face was lined with stress, and Bruce could see he wasn’t paying much attention to what he had to say. 

“Well, the last two time’s he’s caused problems in Gotham—”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“—he’s targeted Jeremiah. And I’m afraid he may do it again.”

“Well, that’s why he has his secret house, isn’t it?” Gordon asked distractedly. “That should keep him safe. Isn’t that the point of living under the radar?”

“Well, yes…”

“What exactly would you want me to do about it? I’ve got my hands full at the moment.”

“I was thinking he may want police protection.” Bruce hadn’t asked him, of course…even now, even with Jerome having escaped, he was meticulously careful to leave Jeremiah out of it all. He couldn’t endanger his friend again by getting him caught up in everything. He couldn’t shoulder that guilt. 

Gordon sighed. “Bruce, I’ve got every officer in the GCPD out looking for those escaped lunatics. And not just Jerome, either. We still have a significant amount of inmates out there who haven’t been caught yet. Right now, I don't have anyone to spare for something like that.” Bruce opened his mouth to argue, but the police captain added, “Besides, he should be all right. You’re the one who said he’s made a house specifically made to keep Jerome out. I don’t think you have anything to worry about, and neither does he. If you _are_ worried, then you can help by keeping an eye on him, but I don’t have anyone on hand to help. I’m sorry.”

Bruce’s heart sank. He’d thought, if he could at least get police protection for his friend, it would lessen the unease he felt at keeping a distance from him. He wasn’t worried about Jerome finding him—Gordon was right when he’d said the odds of that were slim—Bruce was more worried about Jeremiah’s reaction to what had happened. He was so afraid of his twin, and Bruce had always been there to reassure him. Now that he was alone, who knew how he felt? Of course, he wasn’t completely alone…he had Ecco. But Bruce still felt like he had abandoned him.

Even if it was for his own good.

His own _safety._

“Okay.” he said finally, trying to keep the disappointment from his face. Even if he knew Jeremiah would be safe, he wanted _him_ to know it, too. But Gordon was right, they were stretched thin as it was. 

Something in what the man had said repeated itself in Bruce’s brain like a neverending accusation. _“If you’re worried, you can help…”_

But he couldn’t, he couldn’t if he wanted to keep Jeremiah safe. Anything he did that might reveal his friend’s location or compromise his safety was unthinkable. Jerome _couldn’t_ find him, not again.

He wouldn’t let that happen.

And the only way to do that was to stay away.

Bruce shoved his hands into his pockets and, ducking his head as he pushed his way back through the crowd and made his way to the car where Alfred was waiting.

 

\+ + + + + + + +

 

He opened his eyes shakily, the realization that he wasn’t dead slowly creeping into his brain. The gun hadn’t gone off, the bullet was still safely inside…

He was still alive.

The pistol fell from his nerveless fingers, clattering to the ground, and Jerome swooped down to pick it up, examining the barrel with a small smile on his face.

“Well, would ya look at that. Seems like luck’s on your side too, huh? Just like me.”

Jeremiah couldn’t reply, he was still replaying the last few seconds in his head until he could believe it was true. 

_You’re not dead. You’re not._

_And you’re not going to let him kill you. Not here, not alone in the dark. Not where no one can see._

_Not before the world will remember your name forever._

“Better hope this winning streak works for blondie here.” Jerome nodded at Ecco, and Jeremiah’s attention was jerked sharply back to the present. His vision cleared, and he saw his brother holding the gun to the side of his assistant’s head. 

_No, don’t bring her into this…don’t do that, Jerome. You can’t take her away from me, I can’t be alone._

He hadn’t even considered Jerome dragging Ecco into his twisted game of Russian roulette, and now he felt like an idiot for it. Of _course_ his twin would target his only remaining friend, the only one who had always been there for him no matter what…Jeremiah suddenly realized that, without Ecco, he wouldn’t know what to do. 

About _anything._

She was all he had left right now.

Jerome _couldn’t_ kill her.

“Please.” he finally managed. “You’ve played your game. You got me to do what you wanted. Isn't that enough?”

“It’s never enough.” Jerome’s eyes suddenly looked impossibly dark. “Not yet. Not until you learn.”

“Learn _what?”_ His voice caught on a helpless sob. “Jerome, you can’t hurt her, _please.”_

“Aw, how polite. But no.”

“Jerome!”  
“This is the part where you tell me you’ll do whatever I want, right? You’ll admit the truth, even if you don’t believe it. You’ll tell me how to get outta this dumb maze house and back to Gotham. You’ll kill yourself if it means I let your girlfriend go. Et cetera and ad nauseam.”

“Why do you want to get her involved in this?” He tried to sound reasonable, even if that wouldn’t make a difference to Jerome, who howled with laughter.

“There isn’t a _why,_ Jeremiah! That’s what you never understood. I don’t need a _reason_ to do something, I do it because it’s _fun._ And this is very fun.”

He breathed in unsteadily, hoping he didn’t look as scared as he was. “Jerome, this proves you wrong. It proves that I’m not like you.” He clenched his hands to stop them from shaking. “You’re wrong, because I would never do something like this.”

“Is that so? Being the perfect golden boy didn't stop ya from guttin’ me with a knife back at Galavan’s apartment, did it? Didn’t stop ya from thinking you could kill me with this very gun.” He held it up. Jeremiah swallowed.

“How did you…”

“I know everything you think. I saw it on your face. You _wanted_ to do it. You wanted to kill me. You just haven’t got the spine. But you, Jeremiah…” He was speaking quietly now, almost hypnotically, and his eyes were still unnervingly dark. “you thought about it.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know everything I think.”

“I know enough. I know you think just like me. And you always have. We’re connected… _brothers…_ and we’ll always think the same. The only difference is that _you’re_ a coward.”

He felt his throat closing up. It was a lie, Jerome was lying to him to get him to break. To destroy the remains of his spirit, to trick him into believing something that wasn’t true, had never been true. “No, you’re wrong, I’m _better_ than you.” He wished he could believe it.  
“Then show me.” Jerome’s voice was still calm, composed. For a horrible moment, he sounded like Jeremiah. 

_We’re connected._

_Brothers._

“Show me you’re better.”  
“I…I don’t…”

He raised the gun again, pressed it to the base of Ecco’s neck, the barrel pointing up. She didn’t move. She was looking at him, but her gaze was vacant. “Prove it to me, Jeremiah.”

“What do you want me to do?” His voice cracked.

_Coward, coward, coward._

_You’re the one who lied._

_You know what you said isn’t true. And look what’s happening now because of it._

“If you’re better than me,” Jerome explained patiently, “and if you wanted to show me that, you would save her.”

“H-how?”

“However you want. I don’t care. Stop me. Prove me wrong.” There was a challenge in his eyes, an eager look that said plainly that he didn’t believe Jeremiah would do it.

Daring him to make the first move. To stand up to him.

_Don’t let him be right._

_You have to stop him, please, please stop him._

_You can't let him be right._

But he couldn’t move. He willed himself to step toward his brother, even considered the possibility of trying to snatch the gun away from him before it was too late, but he couldn’t move. He wanted to stop Jerome, he wanted to save Ecco and prove he _was_ better, he was more than a copy of his twin, he was something _greater,_ but he was frozen in place, heart pounding and eyes wide, utterly defenseless.

_He could kill you right now and you wouldn’t even try to fight him._

“You can’t do it.” Jerome sighed, sounding disappointed. Jeremiah blinked back tears. “Oh, well, it was worth a try.” His finger curled around the trigger and the sound of a shot broke the heavy silence, reverberating deafeningly through the hall like an explosion. 

He pulled the gun away and Ecco crumpled to the floor, blood pooling around the back of her head like a dark, morbid halo.

Jeremiah’s mind went blank, his vision blacking out for a moment as the walls seemed to waver and collapse around him. He blinked once and they were back in place. He couldn’t form even a single thought.

“That’s tragic.” Jerome said with mock sympathy, blowing the thin line of smoke that came from the end of the gun’s barrel. “Guess the luck ends with us, bro.”

He tried to speak, tried to say something, but he didn’t know what because he still couldn’t think. He could only stare silently at the prone body on the floor, his face deathly white and his eyes wide with horror.

“Well, it’s been a blast. Maybe more for some of us than others.” He prodded Ecco’s limp arm with his foot. “But Gotham isn’t gonna wreck itself, and I’ve gotta keep to a tight schedule with the little setback we had here. Bet you’re beginning to wish you hadn’t tried to one-up me, huh?” He crossed over to Jeremiah, elbowing him in the side. His twin flinched violently, turning to look at him with a lost expression in his eyes. Jerome smirked.

“Cheer up, you’ll find someone else. People come an’ go, you know that.”

_He killed her._ It was the first thing his mind was able to piece together, a broken statement he couldn’t quite understand yet. He didn’t want to understand. He didn’t want to accept what he was seeing.

“Hey, Jonny! Jervis! We’re leaving!” Jerome yelled down the hall, and there was a faint sound of footsteps around the corner. “Thanks for the laugh. You’re always there when I need ya.” he winked at Jeremiah. “That’s what brothers are for, right?”  
“You killed her.” he whispered breathlessly, unable to tear his eyes away from the blood on the ground. “You killed her.”

“Oh? I didn’t notice.” Jerome said sarcastically. “Get over it, Miah, just hire another secretary or whatever she was and you’ll forget you even had the old one.”

_She can’t be dead, she can’t be, she’s all you have left, your last friend, the only one who…_

“Oh great, you’re not gonna cry on me now, are you?” Jerome groaned when he saw the tears brimming in his twin’s eyes. “You're such a baby. It’s not like you haven’t seen a dead body before.” His hand snaked out and latched onto Jeremiah’s wrist, pulling him toward Ecco. Jeremiah’s knees buckled and he fell beside her, his fingertips brushing against the blood. He recoiled in horror, stomach twisting, and Jerome dropped down beside him, dragging him closer. Jeremiah couldn’t struggle against his grip, couldn’t do anything. 

_He’s killed her, and you’re all alone now._

_All alone, forever, and it’s your fault because you didn’t think about what would happen if you brought Jerome here, you didn’t think he could get out, but he did, and now he’s…_

“Remember that cat I killed back at the circus?” Jerome asked conversationally, ignoring the fact they were sitting alongside a body bleeding out on the floor. “Well, I mean, I killed a lot of cats, but there was this one in particular. Belonged to one of the Grayson’s, I think, or one of those guys who walked around in tights. I dunno who. Anyway, remember that?”

Jeremiah wasn’t listening. He stared at Ecco’s face, motionless and slack, and wished he could tell her how sorry he was. 

Because this was his fault.

He hadn’t been brave enough.

Hadn’t been _smart_ enough.

He wasn’t better than Jerome, not by a long shot. Maybe even _worse._ Because Jerome…

Jerome had won this time.

There was no way Jeremiah could turn the tables now.

Jerome had won.

“…killed it with a kitchen knife and showed it to you.” his twin was saying, admiring the gun he was still holding. “And you started crying, you told me you were gonna tattle to Mom and she’d lock you in our room for doing something like that. Course, I knew you wouldn’t, you knew I’d kill you too if you said anything, but that wasn’t what made me mad. Do you remember now, Jeremiah?”  
He shook his head numbly, not because he didn’t remember, but because he wanted Jerome to stop talking, to just go. He’d done the damage, why was he still here? To gloat, maybe? To revel in the destruction he caused? 

“I told you to quit crying, it was annoying and it was just a dead cat, after all. No one _normal_ cries about a stupid thing like that. But you wouldn’t stop, no matter what I said. I was tryin’ to _teach_ you, but you didn’t listen. I told you what _I_ always did, didn’t I?” He leaned in closer to Jeremiah. “And what was it I told you?”  
When his brother refused to answer him, Jerome shrugged, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Whatever. Anyway, I told ya to stop bawlin’ like that, to just _smile_ like I was doing. I showed you how and everything, and you _still_ didn’t do it. What a wimp, amiright?” He nudged Jeremiah’s shoulder. “But I got you to smile eventually.”

He shuddered at the memory, long-suppressed into the back of his mind. They had only been seven at the time, and it had been the first time Jeremiah had ever seen one of the mutilated animals his brother had tortured and killed. He remembered being terrified, making useless threats of telling their mother and so certain that Jerome would come after him next.

And he remembered what his brother had done.

“Since ya wouldn’t do it on your own,” Jerome bent down, running a hand through the congealing blood on the floor, and Jeremiah scrambled back, trying to get out of his reach, his heart in his throat. “I gave you a little help.”

Before he could escape, Jerome was on him, his hands latching onto his brother’s shoulders as he tugged him toward him. Jeremiah tried to get away, twisting out of his grasp for a moment before Jerome caught hold of him again, and attempted to reason with him. 

“Jerome, I know, I remember, you don’t have to…”

“But ya won’t smile for me.” He shook his head in false reproachfulness. “I can’t leave till I see it.”

“I will, I will, Jerome, please…”

“Nah, my way’s better.” He held up a blood-covered hand, and Jeremiah felt it run across his face, curving up on his cheeks and lips. He wrenched his arm out of Jerome’s hold to scrub the blood away, but his brother pinned him down again. “There’s, that’s better. You look much happier now.” His laugh was high and unhinged, like a hyena, and Jeremiah cringed, feeling the blood beginning to dry on his face.

_Go away, leave me alone, you’ve already ruined everything, just stop…_

A shadow fell over him and he looked up to see the two figures from before standing there, watching. Jerome followed his stare and tossed a grin at them. “There you are, gentlemen.” he said warmly, then got to his feet, leaving Jeremiah on the ground. The latter struggled upright, inching away from his twin as he stared with frightened eyes at the trio looking down at him. “Don’t mind him, he’s just having a bit of a rough day, aren’t ya, Miah?” He reached down to ruffle his brother’s hair, then turned back to the two men. “I say it’s time we get out of here, don’t you? Gotham’s waiting for us.” 

Without another word or a glance back, they disappeared down the hall and were lost to sight.

Jeremiah realized how shaky his breath sounded in the silence, but there was nothing he could do to calm it. Trembling all over, he crawled toward Ecco, carefully lifting up her head to rest it in his lap. For a moment, he thought her saw her hand twitch, and he hated his imagination for playing tricks on him, it was _cruel_ to do something like that because she was _dead._

_Your fault, your fault, your fault…_

_Now do you see?_

_You’re not better than Jerome._

_You’re the one who let all this happen, it’s your fault she’s dead, everything that happened is your fault._

_You tried to be something better, but you can’t. Because you’re not better, you never will be. What other proof do you need of that?_

His chest heaved with unshed sobs as he smoothed Ecco’s hair out of her face, his hands shaking worse than ever before. 

_You killed her._

_Jerome pulled the trigger, but you killed her._

He was so absorbed in his guilt that he almost forgot about the bloody smile that streaked across his face, wide and pained and mingled with the hot tears that ran down his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter in the comments! Thanks for reading! :)


	24. Winner Take It All

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

 

He stood at the kitchen sink, watching the scalding hot water run through his hands with empty, weary eyes. His palms were scrubbed raw in an effort to clean off the blood that had dried on them, and now his own blood welled up from the scrapes across the skin where it had been torn away in his frenzied attempt to hide the evidence of what had happened with Ecco. 

_No one_ could know what had happened.

_Because it’s your fault, you killed her, you didn’t stop him and you could have, you could have saved her life, but you were too afraid of him, afraid he would hurt you, and now you let her be murdered._

_You can’t let anyone know._

He had dragged himself out of the horrified stupor he’d fallen into last night after Jerome left, and the remaining rationale that hadn’t deserted him quite yet told him that he needed to put the body somewhere no one could find it. If he called the police, they would know he’d brought Jerome here, and they would learn about his involvement in the breakout. 

And no matter what, he couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let his final line of defense be destroyed after all this. 

His sanity was all he had left.

So he had brought Ecco to her room and laid her on the bed, struggling to lift the dead weight in his arms. He’d carefully sewn up the bullet wound on the side of her head, not because he thought it would make a difference at this point _(of course not, idiot, she’s dead),_ but because it was the only thing he could do for her now. 

Since he hadn’t saved her.

He’d spent the rest of the night trying to clean away the blood, and now, standing at the sink, his own blood mixing with the hot water that poured over his hands, he felt horribly alone. There was nothing to distract him from reality now, no way to ignore what had happened.

_You’ve ruined everything._

_You’ve lost everyone._

And there was no one he could tell, nowhere he could turn.

He felt the tears begin to well up in his eyes again, the realization crashing back down on him all over again with just as much ferocity as before.

_You’re alone, you’re alone, you’re alone…_

And it was because of him.

Because he hadn’t been _good_ enough.

_Were you ever better than Jerome?_

_Or were you just tricking yourself into believing that so you didn’t have to face the truth?  
That no matter what you do, Jerome finds a way to keep you from winning?_

For a while, he really had believed Jerome was a failure. He hadn’t succeeded in driving Jeremiah insane, hadn’t killed him when he had the chance, hadn’t destroyed the city the first two times he’d tried. But if he was a failure, then why did Jeremiah always feel like _he’d_ lost something?

Why did things always come out worse than before for _him,_ and Jerome walked away happy? 

_Did you ever really win?_

He turned off the tap and pressed his hands together, glad for the sting in his palms because he _deserved_ that pain, he deserved it all after what had happened to Ecco. He deserved to die just like she had, because it was _his fault._

_Why did he leave you alive?_

_Why couldn’t he just let you die this time?_

He’d always tried to hard to survive…Jerome killing him would be the ultimate defeat, it would be proof that his brother could always win, but now he didn’t _want_ to survive anymore. Not like this. Not all alone, forgotten, hidden away from the entire world where no one would even remember his name. There wasn’t any point to it all.

Bruce was gone, Ecco was gone, Selina was gone, and Jerome had proven him wrong, he’d proven that Jeremiah _wasn’t_ better, so really, did anything matter?

_He should have killed you._

_You should have let him kill you._

Jeremiah wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but the next time he glanced at the kitchen clock, it read four in the morning. Numbly, he turned away, crossing the living room and pushing open the door to look in on Ecco, as if he could trick himself into thinking she was still alive. 

_You’re hiding a corpse in your house. What are you becoming?_

Stepping inside, he sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at her motionless face. How had he let this happen? How _could_ he? 

He’d never thought something like this could happen.

Biting back a sob, he reached for her hand, entwining her fingers in his own. He’d never realized until too late how much she meant to him, how she had always been there no matter what. And now he couldn’t tell her any of it. 

Everything was all his fault, his own doing, his selfishness at making such an awful plan just because he was afraid of Jerome, and how could have ever thought that would work…

For a moment, he thought he felt a pulse in the limp wrist he was holding onto.

_Stop. Don’t do that. Don’t build up hope when it doesn’t exist._

_You've lost everything, and pretending it will come back isn’t going to help you._

_You have to accept that._

But how could he accept being alone? Fading into obscurity while his maniac of a brother tore down the city and thrived in the spotlight as everyone watched the destruction he created? Being _forgotten_ by everyone, even after all the work he’d done, all the effort he’d put into being _someone._

Even Bruce was gone, now. What if he’d forgotten, too? 

Jeremiah closed his eyes, pulling his hand away from Ecco’s. 

_You’re becoming nobody._

 

\+ + + + + + + +

 

Bruce switched on the television as Alfred set down the birthday cake on the table. The butler shot a disapproving look at him. “Master B, I’m sure Gotham can manage all right without you for at least a few hours. Even if you feel the need to protect the people, you have to allow yourself a reprise every once in a while. And it’s your birthday, after all.”  
He flipped to the news channel, eyes fixed on the screen. “I know, it’s just that Jerome’s still out there. Not only him, but at least thirty other inmates, too.”

“Well, what exactly do you expect to do by watching the news?” Alfred asked over his shoulder. “Leap through the screen and pummel them to the ground, perhaps?”

Bruce rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “There’s no harm in knowing what’s going on. It’s the least I can do.”

Before the butler could say anything, there was an urgent knock at the front door, and he left the kitchen to answer it. Bruce switched the TV off, narrowing missing a glimpse of the next report, which showed live footage of a certain redhead standing on a stage as a crowd gathered around him. Blissfully unaware of what was happening at that very moment in downtown Gotham, Bruce got up to see who was at the door.

He didn’t have far to go, as he was met in the kitchen doorway by Alfred, who had Jim Gordon and Lucius Fox close behind. The look on the two men’s faces were grim, and Bruce glanced at them dubiously.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, and Gordon fiddled with the buttons on his jacket, looking over at Fox.

“Well,” he began uneasily, “I hate to do something like this, and believe me, I wouldn’t if there was any other option, but…” He trailed off, glancing at the television that had been turned off. “Let me show you.” He picked up the remote and clicked it on, the news sputtering back onto the screen. A familiar voice rattled out of the speakers, and Bruce’s eyes widened.

“Oh.” he said quietly, staring at the equally familiar face in front of him. He hadn’t seen Jerome since he’d broken out of Arkham, only heard the news that he had. Somehow, seeing him now was jarring, almost surreal. 

He barely recognized him now.

He remembered back when he’d first seen Jerome at the charity ball. When the criminal, who had been younger than he was now, had tricked everyone in the room into believing he was dead, after killing the deputy mayor and threatening them all. How he had come back, three years later, his face grotesquely stapled back on and even more insanity lurking in his eyes.

And now, standing on that stage, the permanent grin stretching his mouth wide as he stared straight into the camera, he was back.

“What does he want?” Bruce asked, unable to tear his own gaze away. He’d know Jerome would reveal himself sooner or later, he lived for fame and recognition, but it was still a shock. He hoped Jeremiah wasn’t seeing any of this, but, knowing him, he probably was.

Jim cleared his throat awkwardly. “I…see, that’s the thing.” he said slowly. “Like I said, if there was any other way…”

“Jimbo!” Jerome’s voice shouted from the television as he held a microphone to his face, “You’re one hell of a slowpoke, ain’t you? If you don’t get Brucie and my brother to me _now,_ I’m gonna start picking heads to be blown off!”

“That.” Gordon finished lamely, gesturing to the screen. Bruce drew in a long breath, and Alfred glared.

“Abso-bloody-lutely _not.”_ he snapped, and Gordon winced. “If you think I’ll let my boy go into the line of fire of that _lunatic,_ then you—”

“Why?” Bruce cut in, turning to the two newcomers. “What does he want with me?”

_Not just me,_ he added silently. _Jeremiah, too._

He bit down on his lip at the thought, guilt twinging inside of him.

_Jeremiah…_

_Jerome asked for his brother._

_You stayed away from him, and Jerome still asked for him. For the both of you. Even after you made sure to keep him out of this._

_No…no, this was supposed to work. Jerome wasn’t supposed to bring him into anything, it was supposed to be you._

_Just you._

But Jerome wanted them both.

He’d said it himself.

“Search me.” Gordon said with another sigh. “Bruce, you don’t have to get involved if you don’t want to, I only…”

“Of course he’s not getting involved!” Alfred nearly shouted at him. Bruce turned back to the screen. “If you think I’m going to let my boy get anywhere near that…that _creature,_ then _you’re_ the crazy one, mate.”

_Everything you did…_

_It still didn’t work._

_He’s still in danger._

_And now he probably thinks you don’t care anymore._

Bruce shuddered. This wasn’t how things were supposed to turn out. He’d wanted to help Jeremiah, wanted him to be free of his brother, but everything had come full circle. 

_You were never really protecting him._

_He was always going to be in danger._

“I have a device here, and it should work.” There was a rustle of fabric as Lucius Fox lifted something out of a briefcase.

“I don’t bloody think so.” Alfred sniffed. 

“Really, I have almost complete faith in—”

“I’ll do it.” Bruce interrupted, turning back to them. Alfred stared.

“You will most definitely _not,_ Master Bruce, I will not allow you to…”

“People are going to die, Alfred.” He didn’t feel afraid, he was too preoccupied with the realization that his plan to protect Jeremiah had failed. _He_ had failed. He looked over at Gordon. “I’ll do it, Jim.”

_If Jeremiah has to get involved in this, then I’ll be with him._

_It’s the least I can do, after everything that’s happened. It’s the only way I can make it up to him._

_If he’ll ever trust me again._

 

\+ + + + + + + +

 

_He wants you._

_He’s going to kill you._

_In front of everyone, and that will be the end._

_You’ll be a name in the obituary column of next week’s paper, and never seen again. Jerome will make headlines for months._

_Because he’s going to kill you._

Jeremiah gulped down a burning swallow of whiskey, his fingers tapping nervously on the monitor desktop as he stared at nothing and tried to forget the voice and face that had been on the news only minutes before. He’d turned the television on, hoping for a distraction from everything that had happened, only to be greeted by the sight of his brother, demanding for him and Bruce Wayne to join him, their refusal at the expense of the hostages he’d lined up behind him on the stage.

Jeremiah had stared, shocked, at the scene, complete hopelessness rushing through him. This would never end, it was an ongoing cycle of horror for him, Jerome’s cruel attempts to drive him over the edge of sanity into the oblivion of madness. He didn’t know if he had the strength to fight back anymore. He was becoming worn down, discouraged. Even the voice in his head had abandoned him, leaving him feeling very scared and small. He didn’t know what to do. 

One this was for certain, he wasn’t going to face his brother again.

He didn’t have the stamina for that anymore. 

He was too afraid, and now, he saw no point in denying it. Everyone knew it. He’d always been scared of Jerome, and after everything, he couldn’t hide that fear anymore. Jerome had torn away his final semblances of control, broken him down to what he truly was. Because there was only one thing that defined Jeremiah, determined who he would be.

Fear of his brother.

Fear of what he would do to him.

And now Jerome wanted to show that fear to everyone, wanted to humiliate his twin in his final moments by revealing his true face, the shattered remains of who he once was. Because Jerome _had_ changed him, there was no use hiding that anymore. 

Jeremiah couldn’t fight back anymore. And Jerome knew it.

Now he was simply waiting to strike, to land the final blow.

No, he knew he couldn’t follow his brother’s orders. He didn’t care who died in the process.

Part of him hoped Bruce wouldn’t listen, either. He didn’t think Jerome would kill his friend, he was so fixated on what his twin would do to _him,_ but he didn’t want the possibility to exist.

Because, after everything, he still wanted Bruce to come back.

The front door alarm startled him, and he switched on the monitor screen, staring at the sight of Jim Gordon and a man he didn’t know standing outside. For a moment, he wanted to ignore it. He knew what Gordon was here for, he knew what he would try to get him to do.

_I won’t do it._

But then he saw who was with them, and his heart twisted into knots as a tremor passed through his frame. 

_He’s come back._

_Come back to you._

_Just like you wanted._

Suddenly, he heard the voice in his head, and he jumped, startled. It hadn’t spoken in a while, and he’d almost forgotten what it was like. He remembered how he used to hate it, but compared to the events of the past few days, it didn’t seem to matter as much anymore.

Now, he almost welcomed it.

“If you don’t let him in, he’ll never come back.” it told him. “This is your only chance to salvage the one relationship you have left, and you can’t let your fear overpower that. If you do, you’re more of a coward than I took you for.”

Jeremiah’s jaw tensed and he pressed the button for the door to open, watching as the trio outside stepped in cautiously. For a moment, panic rushed through him as he remembered Ecco, but they weren’t here to ask about that. Because they didn’t know.

They were here to lead him to Jerome.

_You can let them in, but you can’t let them take you._

_You can’t._

Fortunately, Bruce knew the way through the maze to the workshop, and Jeremiah nervously adjusted his glasses as he waited for them to appear, finishing off the whiskey and picking up the bottle to pour another glass. Soon after, he heard approaching footsteps and turned around to face Gordon, the man he didn’t recognize, and Bruce all standing silently behind him.

Of course, he only looked at Bruce.

Looked at him almost hungrily, an aching sort of desperation in his eyes, a plea for his friend to never, ever go away again, because look what had happened when he did. Jeremiah had lost everything, and it was because Bruce was gone.

_I need you, I need you, I need you…_

Gordon cleared his throat. “Jeremiah. I’m sorry to barge in on you like this,” he looked around the room, taking in every detail like the trained detective he was, “but I’m afraid it was necessary.”

Jeremiah ignored the way his hands shook as he tilted the bottle of whiskey and watched it slosh against the sides of the glass, wondering how many of these it would take to get drunk so he wouldn’t remember his own death. He hated these people for invading his home (except Bruce, of course, he could never hate Bruce) but he had to maintain at least some politeness or they may think he was as unhinged as Jerome.

And no one could think that.

Least of all now.

So he gave the police captain a tight smile, gripping the glass as he raised it to his lips and trying to keep his eyes from betraying his growing terror at the situation. When he spoke, his voice was calm, controlled, and he could hear the silent voice in his head whisper a congratulations for pretending to be okay.

“I watch the news. I know why you’re here, Mr. Gordon.”

 

\+ + + + + + + +

 

Jerome paced back and forth impatiently on the stage like a caged animal, snapping his fingers and making faces at the hostages lined up in a row. Jim hadn’t called yet, hadn’t said a word in response to his warning, which had been a full fifteen minutes ago. 

It was _unacceptable._

No one kept Jerome waiting, least of all that stupid detective. Or was he the captain now? It didn’t matter. Jerome smiled at the police commissioner, tied to a chair behind him.

_If you don’t get here soon, Jimbo, there might just be a job opening for you._

No doubt it was his brother holding things up. Jerome grinned humorlessly, the expression more like a sneer. Wasn't that just like Jeremiah? For crying out loud, he hadn’t even been brave enough to try and save that blonde chick he kept around the house. Jerome shook his head. If his brother didn’t hurry up, he may have to go straight back to his little maze house and drag him here himself. He giggled at that. 

_Oh, Miah, you think so highly of yourself, but what are you, really? A sniveling little coward who hides away from the world because he’s scared of his own shadow. It really is pathetic. And the worst part is, you won’t admit it! You’re obsessed with being right, being the best, being better than me._

_Bad news, kiddo, you’re never gonna amount to nothing._

_Especially the I put a bullet in your brain on this stage and leave ya to rot in the ground._

Now _that_ was an entertaining thought. 

If only Jeremiah would hurry up and get here before Jerome blew off too many heads before the main event.

 

\+ + + + + +

 

“Your brother doesn’t bluff.” Gordon said carefully, and Jeremiah narrowed his eyes.

“Which is exactly why I won’t go.”

“He’s going to kill the hostages if he doesn’t get what he wants.”

_Let him._ Jeremiah thought. _I’m not going to be your trade-off._

Since that wouldn’t go over well with the police captain, he said instead, “So he’ll kill us. You’d prefer that as an alternative?”

Gordon hesitated. “He won’t kill you. Lucius has a device that will inactivate the detonator. You’ll be safe.”

“I think you’re underestimating the situation.” he retorted, irritation flaring up in his tone. “Jerome had been planning this for a long time. You really think something like that will stop him?” His voice began to tremble and he broke off, determined to stay composed. He hadn’t looked at Bruce again since he’d first stepped in the door. If he did, he knew he would break down completely. It was easier to be strong when he couldn’t see his friend looking at him with regret shining in his eyes. The unspoken hung in the air between them…Bruce’s silent apology for everything, Jeremiah’s desperation to bring him back. 

They both knew it, and he had to avoid looking his friend in the eyes.

Gordon continued, “Jeremiah, we don’t have much time. This situation will be under control the moment the device is in range. I just need you to trust me.”

He almost laughed at that. _Trust._ Where had that ever gotten him? Trust was a dangerous thing…everything bad that had ever happened to him stemmed from blind trust. It was a _weakness,_ and he certainly wasn’t going to give it to the police captain who looked like he wanted to take Jeremiah by the arm and drag him straight to Jerome if he had the chance.

_They all want to get you killed._

_All but Bruce._

_Bruce would never want that._

He wished Ecco was here, she could reason with them when he couldn’t find the words he wanted to say. She would stand up for him, make sure he was okay, keep them from forcing him to do the one thing he didn’t want to do. But she wasn’t here, and it was his fault, and he deserved to die for it, but not like this, not the way Jerome had planned, he _couldn’t…_

He didn’t realize his breath had grown shallow and erratic, or that his hand was shaking so badly he could barely hold onto the glass. He could only think about Jerome, about the unknown horrors his twin had prepared for him, for him and Bruce, and he couldn’t face that, he couldn’t face the humiliation, the way Jerome would show everyone that he amounted to nothing, he couldn’t even defend himself against his brother, he couldn’t do _anything…_

“Jeremiah.” Bruce’s steady voice cut through his thoughts like a scalpel, and Jeremiah’s gaze snapped to him, his dark, scared eyes searching for help. Begging Bruce to put a stop to this. He couldn’t walk straight into his death like this, no matter how many people it would save, he couldn’t do something like that…

“Miah, hey.” Bruce’s hand was resting on his arm now, gentle and calming and _safe,_ and Jeremiah kept looking at him, because it was the only way to stop thinking about everything else. “Hey, it’s okay. You…we don't want to put you in danger.”

“Bruce—” Gordon began, but the boy shot him a quick look, and he retreated.

“He’s gonna kill me.” Jeremiah whispered, his voice catching in the back of his throat. “Bruce, he wants to…”

“Don’t think about him right now.” Bruce’s gaze was steady. “No one will let him hurt you.”

Jeremiah remembered suddenly that Bruce…that _nobody_ knew Jerome had been in the bunker. They didn’t know what had happened the night before, they didn’t know about Ecco…

Bruce’s eyes flitted around the workshop, trying to find something to distract his friend. His gaze finally landed on the project spread out on the table they were standing by. “May I ask what it is you’ve been working on?”

There was something more to his tone that Jeremiah couldn’t decipher in his present state of mind…if his thoughts hadn’t been clouded by fear, he would have realized this was Bruce’s way of an apology. Behind his words was the whisper of, _I’m sorry I abandoned you. I’m sorry I pushed you away. You needed me, and I wasn’t there._

_And it was my fault._

He was trying to let himself back into Jeremiah’s life.

The redhead cleared his throat, setting down the glass when his hand refused to stay steady. He chanced a look at the two men standing silently by the door, nervously wondering what they would do if he continued to refuse their demands, and turned back to Bruce.

Because Bruce would keep him safe.

_He asked you a question._

“Um, yeah. It’s…” He fixed his glasses again, looking down at the long-untouched prototype of his project that he’d nearly forgotten about. He remembered how excited he had been to show it to Bruce, before his friend had left him. But now Bruce was back, and maybe things could be okay again. 

For a moment, he nearly forgot about Jerome. 

“It’s a compact electrical engine.” He glanced shyly at the other boy, searching for the approval in his gaze. “It generates power.”

“Fascinating.” Bruce breathed, sounding wholly absorbed. “How much power?”

Jeremiah nearly smiled, pride swelling in his chest, and he _did_ forget about Jerome then, forgot about Ecco and about what had happened last night, because Bruce cared, he really cared again, and maybe things would stay that way. 

“J-just two could light up every building south of Westward Bridge.” he explained, resting a hand on the prototype carefully. Bruce nodded, still looking interested. Gordon finally spoke up.

“We can’t wait much longer. He’s going to start killing the hostages. You’re either going to come with us, or we’ll have to figure something else out.”

Jeremiah flinched at the man’s tone, and looked to Bruce for help. His friend gave him a small smile.

“You don’t have to.” he said quietly, and suddenly Jeremiah felt uncertain. Bruce _was_ going to to it, had willingly volunteered himself to save those people, and here _he_ was, balking at the very thought of even coming close to his brother. 

How could he be so selfish?

“It’s okay if you don’t.” Bruce sounded so sure, and Jeremiah wished none of this was happening. He didn’t _want_ to be a coward, he was just so afraid of Jerome, so afraid of what he was going to do. “But you know, Jeremiah, sometimes standing up to terror is the only way to take it’s power away.” He laid a hand on his friend’s, which still gripped onto the prototype like a lifeline, and Jeremiah faltered. 

_Take its power away._

Jerome had always had power over him…ever since they were children…he knew how to keep his brother subdued. And he’d used it to his advantage until he’d gotten what he wanted…he could make Jeremiah into nothing more than a pathetic echo of himself simply by wielding that power, using his brother’s worst fears against him…

_If you stand up to fear…_

_No. You can’t do that. Can’t think it. He’s going to kill you._

_This is what Jerome wants._

Bruce’s hand still rested on his, and Jeremiah wished he could be brave like his friend, wished he had the strength to face Jerome without a second thought. 

_I wish I was like you._

He glanced at the device Fox was holding, wondering how effective it was. If Jerome had a second plan if things went wrong.

If his brother was going to kill him when they went up on that stage.

_Not_ when _, you’re not doing it._

“You really won’t?” The voice in his head was back again, and now it sounded angry. Jeremiah tensed. “Jerome doesn’t _deserve_ to control your life. And you’re letting him do this to you. Why won’t you stand up to him for once? Or are you going to spend the rest of your life like this? _Hiding?”_

_But he’s going to kill me, he’s going to kill me in front of all those people…_

“Bruce is going.” the voice interrupted. “And you’re going to let him go alone? You’re going to abandon _him_ now? Haven’t you done enough damage?”

Guilt shot through him. _I don't want him to…_

“Then go. Go with him. Show Jerome you’re not a coward, and show Bruce you’re still his friend. Prove it to everyone. Prove who you are.”

Gordon was speaking on the phone, his forehead creased in worry, and he was looking impatiently at Jeremiah. The latter looked away.

_I don’t want to._

“This isn’t about _wanting_ anything, idiot!” the voice was much too loud now, it was hurting his head, and he wondered if Bruce could hear any of it. “This is about proving a point! Showing Jerome who you _are._ That he doesn’t control you.”

_But he does control me! And I can’t…I can’t help that…_

“If you don’t do this,” it was quieter now, but there was deadly edge that scared him, “then you’ve proved him right. You’ve let him break you. Is that what you want?”

_Is that what you want?_

Bruce was looking at him, waiting, hoping he would say the right thing. The other two were still watching him, and Jeremiah wanted to disappear, he didn’t want any of this to happen, he felt horribly trapped and there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run from this…

_It’s the only way to take its power away._

“They’ve got a weapon.” Gordon said tiredly, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “Poison gas.”

Jeremiah glanced at Bruce again, and his friend gave a small nod. 

_He believes in you._

_He still believes in you, after everything that’s happened._

_But Jerome’s still going to kill you! It doesn’t matter if Bruce believes in you, that won’t protect you from Jerome. Nothing can._

_You can’t do this._

The phone that sat on the corner of his desk suddenly began to ring, and Jeremiah froze, looking over at it. No one knew the number of the landline, he’d been meticulously careful to make sure of that. 

He felt his throat go dry.

“Is that important?” Gordon nodded at the phone, and Jeremiah licked his lips, wanting to lie and say no, it was probably nothing, but the words wouldn’t come, and he knew exactly who would be on the other line if he picked up the receiver.

_What does he want?_

Numbly, he crossed the room and lifted the phone up, staring at the floor. He didn’t have to speak, because half a second later, his brother’s familiar voice had already begun to talk.

“Hey, Miah, how’s it hanging?”

Jeremiah looked nervously at the others in the room, shifting from one foot to the other. Jerome must have found the number to the phone when he’d been snooping in the workshop last night…but he couldn’t tell them that, because then they would know he had been there.

“What do you want?” he asked unsteadily, wincing as his twin’s laughter rang in his ear.

“I thought a little persuasion might be in order, since you’re takin’ so long to make up your mind.”

“How did you—”

“No time for questions. Are you coming?”

“Why would I do that? You’re going to kill us both.”

“And is that what’s most important to you? Life?”

Jeremiah sensed his twin wanted him to ask what he meant by that, so he did. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Oh, just a bit of friendly encouragement. Y’know, I’ve got every news source filming me right now. Every home in Gotham is watching us.”

“Can they hear what you’re saying?” he asked uneasily. 

“Nope. Not yet. You catch on quick, bro.”

“I don’t know what you—”

“Take a little hypothetical example.” Jerome interrupted. “Say I wanted to bring someone to me, and they didn’t want to come. How would I convince them to change their minds? What matters to them more than their safety?” There was a pause. “Secrets, perhaps?”

Jeremiah gripped the phone tighter. “What are you saying?” Bruce was looking at him worriedly now.

“Oh, I think you understand just fine. Like I said, no one can hear me right now but you. But if you don’t listen to me, I might just have to do a bit of talking. To every camera here. I’m sure they’ll eat it up like an eight-course meal.”

“Talking about _what?”_

“I dunno, take your pick.” Jerome said airily. “Maybe I’ll start with how you trapped me in your stupid maze house without anyone knowing, not even the cops.”

Jeremiah felt his heart stop.

“Or maybe,” his brother continued, “how you helped kill your little blonde friend and didn’t tell anyone? I know you kept it a secret.” There was a smile in his voice.

“Jerome…” 

“Or!” he raised his voice. “How about this? Think back to three years ago. Scene: a penthouse bedroom. Very snazzy. This ain’t no soap opera, though. Not unless soap operas have a lotta blood and someone gettin’ stabbed to death on the floor. I’m sure you remember that, Jeremiah?”

_No._

_No, he can't do that._

_No one else can know what happened…if the police find out…if everyone hears about that…_

_They’ll think I’m a murderer too._

_They’ll know I’m a murderer._

“You remember that?” Jerome’s voice was painfully loud now. “Remember how you _killed_ me, Jeremiah? You want me to tell that to everyone? You want everyone to know what you did?”

He was trembling again, unable to think straight. “No, please don’t…”

“Then come to me.” Jerome sounded calmer now, but no less threatening. “And bring Brucie too.”

“You’re going to…”

“It’s either that, or I start to spill the secrets. And trust me, you don’t want that to happen.”

_Everyone will know what you did._

_Gordon will know, he’ll know you lied about it, the entire city will know the truth…_

_Jerome’s right._

_You’ve lost again._

He dropped the phone back into the receiver, glancing slowly up at the three waiting figures standing there. 

_You don’t have a choice anymore._

Before the phone had begun to ring, he’d been on the verge of deciding to go, encouraged by Bruce’s words. He’d wanted to prove his bravery, prove that he could stand up to his brother, but now all that ambition was gone.

Now, his motivation was powered only by fear.

There wasn’t anything courageous about this.

_Does it matter?_

_You’re going to die, either way._

He picked up the coat slung over the back of a chair, shoving his glasses up to the bridge of his nose and looking unsmilingly at Gordon. His voice was quiet when he spoke, but resolute. 

As much as he could make it, at least.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Gordon nodded gratefully, shepherding them out of the door. “Thank you.” he murmured, but he was looking at Bruce, who, in turn, never took his eyes off of Jeremiah.

No one asked what Jerome had said to him on the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "That's Entertainment" is my all-time favorite Gotham episode (I've watched it an unhealthy amount of times and I still love it) so I had to put in some of the lines from the ep itself hehe
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	25. Au Revior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know this series was originally going to be just 3 fics, with part two covering seasons 3-5, but since this one's gotten so long, I'm going to split it into 4 instead...it'll still follow the story and everything, I'm just going to break it up so this current one isn't so insanely long. 
> 
> All that goes to say that this one will probably be only a few chapters longer, and then I'll start a new fic that'll keep continuing this series. :)

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

 

"Happy birthday, by the way.”

Bruce turned to look at Jeremiah, who was huddled in the corner of the police car and looking very ill at ease with the entire situation. He felt yet another jolt of guilt for allowing his friend to get involved with all this, especially after he’d been trying so hard to keep him out of danger, away from Jerome.

_And that only ended up causing more problems._ he thought, regret twisting in his chest. _No matter what you did, it was always going to end up like this again. All you did was abandon him because you didn’t want the responsibility._

“Thanks.” he said quietly, mustering what he hoped was an encouraging smile. Jeremiah didn’t smile back, but he kept looking at Bruce with so much trust in his eyes that the other boy had to turn away. 

Because he couldn’t guarantee they would be okay. 

They were following Jerome’s orders, after all.

“I was going to get you a gift,” Jeremiah continued, pressing his hands together and staring down at them as if that would make them stop trembling. “But you…well…”

He trailed off, but Bruce understood. It was the only thing he’d been thinking about for the past several hours.

_You told him to stay away._

“About that.” Bruce began slowly, glancing at the front seat of the car where Gordon and Fox were speaking in hushed tones as a police report crackled over the radio. “I…I never should…” Why was this so hard to say? They both knew he had been wrong, he didn’t have a problem admitting that. There was no question that he had been an idiot when he’d said the things he did, when he’d left Jeremiah behind. He knew that, but for some reason, he couldn’t find the right words. Maybe it was the way Jeremiah didn’t even seem angry with him, and he _deserved_ to be angry at Bruce, he _should_ be angry, but he wasn’t, and Bruce couldn’t understand why. He'd betrayed his best friend, and Jeremiah didn’t even blame him for it.

_Of course he doesn’t._ Bruce’s thoughts whispered to him. _He doesn’t blame you, he never does._

_He always blames himself._

The realization hurt more than he ever could have imagined. Bruce knew his friend would have obsessed over what had happened, trying to figure out _why,_ but until now, he hadn’t truly faced the reality that had been there all along, plain as day.

Jeremiah had thought it was his own fault.

_That_ was why he wasn’t angry with Bruce.

Because he believed _he_ was the one who had ruined everything.

Bruce felt his throat tighten and his heart grow terribly heavy. He had tried to help his friend, and had only succeeded in breaking him down. Making him worry about problems that didn't exist. His hands closed around the edge of the seat.

_You’re destroying him._

“I’m sorry.” he finally said, his voice wavering. Jeremiah kept looking at him, confusion in his eyes. Bruce cleared his throat. “I…I’m sorry for what I did. To you. What I _didn’t_ do, I guess. You didn’t deserve that, and I was…” He traced the worn leather of the seat with one finger. “I should have known better. Known that it didn’t matter what I did, or whether or not I stayed away from you, because it always comes back to you and me. That’s…how it’s always been.”

Something indecipherable flickered in Jeremiah’s eyes, something he wasn’t even aware of, but he didn’t move, only kept his gaze fixed on his friend. Bruce sat back, feeling very tired all of a sudden. He felt _guilty,_ and he knew no amount of apologies would make up for what he had done.

He couldn’t change that.

“I should have stayed, and I don't know what I was thinking.” He _did_ know, of course…he’d only wanted to keep Jeremiah safe, but somehow that explanation fell flat now. And it was, quite frankly, ridiculous…they were in a police car, heading straight into the waiting arms of the madman who wanted to kill them both.

Safety was the furthest thing from either of their minds at the moment.

"I guess I…I guess I was…to tell the truth, I really don’t know what I was thinking.” he finished softly. “I only know I should never have left you alone.”

Jeremiah finally turned away from him to stare out the window, and Bruce studied his profile, taking note of the dark shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw. It was bad enough for Bruce to have to face Jerome, after their unpleasant encounters in the past, and he could only imagine what it was like for Jeremiah.

He didn’t _want_ to imagine it.

“Why aren’t you scared, Bruce?” his friend asked suddenly, still looking out the window. Bruce paused, not knowing what he could say to that. It was true, he wasn’t _scared…_ that wasn’t the right word. He was worried, but not for himself. He trusted Gordon and Fox enough to believe they would keep him safe, and he wasn’t really afraid of Jerome anymore. He was afraid of what he could _do,_ but not of Jerome himself. He was a dangerous criminal, but his instability and refusal to stick to his plans were his downfall, and Bruce, who had been working hard in recent months to study the methods of Gotham’s high-profile Arkham inmates, spurred on by his ambition to fight crime, knew he could be stopped. He wasn’t sure how yet, but hoping for the best was the only way he could face this situation.

“I’m not sure.” he finally replied, the quick, incredulous glance Jeremiah gave him not going unnoticed. “I guess if I let myself be scared, then I wouldn’t be able to do this. And I need to, because I need to help the people he’s holding hostage.”

“But you don’t.” Jeremiah moved even further into the corner, crossing his arms like he was cold. “You don’t even know them.”

“They’re innocent people. Someone has to help them.”

“Why does it have to be you?”

“Because no one else will. And I’m the one Jerome wants.” 

Jeremiah looked unconvinced. “That doesn’t mean you _have_ to do it. Whatever he does to them isn’t your fault.”

“But I have the chance to save them.” Bruce said quickly. “If I ignored that, then it would be my fault if they die.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” he argued, and Bruce could see he really was trying to work out the reasoning behind his explanation, but couldn’t. Really, Bruce couldn’t, either. He didn't know _why_ he should put himself in danger to save a group of strangers, but somehow, it seemed to be the only option. 

_Guess you’ve got a bit of a hero complex._

“You don't _have_ to listen to Jerome. No one would blame you if you stayed away. But you’re still doing it.”

Before Bruce could answer, the car pulled to a stop and Gordon glanced over his shoulder. “We’re here." he said, his voice terse. Bruce could see he was worried and trying not to show it. “You're both still willing to do this?”

Jeremiah looked over at Bruce, as if waiting for his approval to respond. The latter nodded, giving his friend a reassuring glance, or an attempt at one. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Gordon reached down to pick up the remote signaling device and passed it to Bruce. “Put this in your pocket, and when you get close enough to the detonator he’s holding, it’ll disengage it. All the explosives will be inactive.”

Bruce took the small cylinder, noticing the disapproving glance Jeremiah gave it. He knew his friend was probably thinking he could have made something better, and smiled to himself. Gordon turned back and opened the door, stepping out and drawing his gun from its holster, and Fox followed. Bruce reached for his own door handle, then paused when he saw the look of panic that crossed Jeremiah’s face. He let go and met the other boy’s eyes. 

“They know what they’re doing. He’s not going to hurt you.”

Jeremiah shivered, searching Bruce’s eyes for the truth, trying to believe it. He _wanted_ to believe it, but when he knew Jerome was out there, waiting for him, waiting to _kill_ him, it was hard to be brave.

_I’m not like you, Bruce._

_I’ve never been like you._

Bruce knew how to be a _hero,_ Jeremiah could only follow him because he didn’t know what else to do. It had nothing to do with bravery, and everything to do with the fact that he would trust Bruce with his own life if it meant not being alone. He was here because he was scared of being left behind again, not because he had any sort of courage. 

But Bruce was doing this because he wanted to _help_ those people.

“We don’t have a lot of time.” Gordon ducked his head back into the car, and Bruce finally opened the door. Jeremiah followed him, legs unsteady and eyes wide behind his glasses. 

_Bruce won’t let him do anything to you, he knows it’ll be okay, he said so…_

But Bruce had promised him that so many times before.

And it never came true.

Still, it was too late to turn back, and he had nowhere else to go. He couldn’t hide from Jerome anymore…his brother knew where he lived, he would always know how to find him. 

There was no point in fighting him anymore.

Slowly, Jeremiah rounded the corner of the car, following Bruce and the two men to the back of the crowd that was gathered in a hushed cluster in the middle of the street. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, unable to bring himself to look up at Jerome, who was standing on the stage on the far side of the crowd. 

But he couldn’t hide from his voice, which echoed out from the microphone he was speaking into as he paced back and forth on the stage. 

“Look who decided to show up.” It was followed by a low chuckle, grating with feedback from the microphone.

Jeremiah winced, instinctively looking over at Bruce, who was staring up at the stage with a frown creasing his face. Staring straight at Jerome, because Bruce wasn’t a coward, he wasn’t going to let that maniac intimidate him, and Jeremiah _wished_ he could be like that, just for the moment.

“Why can’t you?” the voice in his head asked sharply. “Why can’t you let yourself be better than him? Because of what happened to Ecco? Because of how he ruined your plan? You think that’s the end of it all?” It scoffed derisively. “That doesn’t mean he’s better than you. He needs to see that. You both do.”

_I don’t want to prove anything. I just want this to be over._

“That’s a lie. And you know it. You’ve been trying to prove yourself to Jerome ever since he cornered you in that alley and forced you to say you were just as insane as him. You’ve been trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t true, trying to be someone other than _Jerome Valeska’s brother,_ trying to be _better._ You know you were, Jeremiah, you still are, and there’s no use trying to hide it from me. I’m a part of you, I _am_ you, and you've just been given your chance to prove to Jerome…to prove to _everyone…_ that he’s not in control of you any longer.”

He was trembling from nerves and the confusion of it all, his vision blurring in and out, and he couldn’t hear Jerome anymore, he couldn’t hear anything but the voice, and it was too loud, too _close,_ too much like him…he couldn’t think, couldn’t move…

“My guests of honor!” Through the confusion, his brother’s voice rang out, and suddenly Jeremiah was grounded again, he could remember where he was, and he didn't feel like he was being crushed into the ground anymore. He blinked, finally looking up at Jerome, who was staring right back at him, laughter sparking hungrily in his eyes. 

_Don’t look away._

_Stop letting him control you._

_You've controlled him before. You broke him out of Arkham. You arranged for him to be trapped in the maze. He ruined that plan, but you still forced him to follow you, even if he didn’t know it, because you’re better than him. Smarter than him._

_If it wasn’t for you, he’d still be locked up in prison._

The wind whipped around him, cold and stinging his face, and Jeremiah reached up to adjust his glasses, still watching Jerome. His twin hadn’t moved. He was still looking at him with that same expression, because _he_ was always the same, he didn’t _deserve_ to be anything more than that.

Jerome wasn’t anything they said he was. He wasn’t anything he _wanted_ to be. He was a failure, he was monotonous, predictable, _boring…_

_Everything he’s ever done, it’s because you_ let _him do it. You allowed him to, but if you stood up to him…_

_You could show them that you’re better._

_You could show all of them._

For a moment, he forgot about the crowd, forgot about why they were there, even forgot about Bruce.

It was just him and Jerome, watching each other. Waiting.

_You would finally prove it._

_Gotham would know who is really in control._

Jerome smiled then, and for a second, Jeremiah had the horrifying thought that maybe his brother could hear his thoughts. Then the smile dropped to a threatening glare, and Jerome motioned for them to come closer. 

_Don’t run away._

_It’s too late for that._

_It’s too late for so many things._

He saw Bruce beginning to make his way through the crowd, and followed close on his heels, chancing a nervous glance back at Gordon, who didn’t notice because he was watching Jerome. 

_Just go. Keep going. Bruce has the device to stop the explosives. Jerome’s not going to win this time._

_You can’t let him scare you anymore._

They were halfway to the stage by now, and Jerome hadn’t taken his eyes off his twin at all. From behind him, Jeremiah heard the faint hiss of static as Fox spoke into his radio transmitter. Gordon had explained on the drive over that there were snipers on the roof, waiting for the detonator to be blocked, then they would shoot. Jeremiah, who hadn’t been listening to much of anything Gordon said at the time, suddenly felt his mouth go dry.

He was going to watch his brother die in front of him all over again.

The reality hadn’t hit him until now.

And Jerome was still watching him, absolute confidence shining in his brown eyes. Jeremiah remembered when they were kids back at the circus and his brother had seen the trapeze artists training on the swings that hung from the rafters in the giant tent, how Jerome had dragged him along when no one was around so he could try to copy their moves, so sure he would be able to do it perfectly. Of course, he hadn’t, and Jeremiah had watched him fall flat on his back in a cloud of dirt when his hand had slipped and he’d plummeted to the floor. But he had been so confident then, just like he was now, so certain he was in charge.

Jerome didn’t even believe in failure.

_They’re going to kill him._

For some reason, he didn’t feel relief at the thought. He didn’t feel reassured.

After all, Jerome had died once before. Who was to stop him from coming back a second time? Over and over again, for the rest of time…

Bruce, who was walking close beside him, reached unobtrusively into his coat pocket, and Jeremiah knew he was holding onto the device Lucius had given him. There was a faint beeping, and he held his breath, waiting for the snipers to take aim and fire and that would be it, this nightmare would be over.

The sound of shots ripped through the air, and even though Jeremiah had known they were coming, had been waiting for this very second, he froze, unconsciously reaching out toward Bruce, thoughts coming to a standstill as they always did.

_He was right, you are a coward, you can’t do anything without being afraid, Jerome’s destroyed you, he’s broken you, and even if they kill him it won't help, because you can’t be fixed anymore. It’s too late for that._

He shut his eyes tight, waiting for the noise to stop, unable to watch whatever was happening, because he didn’t care who was being killed, he only knew he couldn’t bear to see any of it. There were screams of panic from the crowd, and he heard Bruce draw in a sharp breath beside him. Against his own will, he opened his eyes, expecting to see Jerome and his followers dead on the stage, bodies strewn about like limp dolls.

He was met with his twin grinning down at him, very much alive and intact, detonator still clutched firmly in his hand. Jeremiah stumbled back, straight into a bystander, his head spinning.

_You’re supposed to be dead…_

_They were shooting, I heard it, I know they were…_

_Why aren’t you dead? Why aren’t you ever really dead?_

Jerome was pointing up to the rooftops, and Jeremiah followed his direction, his eyes going wider when he saw the bloodied bodies of a SWAT team draped over the edge of the roof, men in red and black striped uniforms taking their place with double-barreled rifles aimed down at the crowd below.

_No._

He didn’t even need to hear Jerome’s plan, which he was now willingly explaining to the petrified but listening audience…he understood what was happening just fine.

_No, no, no, this was supposed to work, it has to work, we can’t just…_

“Bruce!” Jerome shouted into the microphone, and Jeremiah felt a sob building in his chest, because they were really going to die now, there was nothing stopping Jerome from killing them…from killing _everyone_ on that stage and everyone in the audience and…

“Brother dear.” his twin added, leering at him. “Get up onstage.” He motioned with the hand holding the detonator, and Jeremiah turned back to Gordon and Fox, who didn’t meet his eyes. 

_God, they’re sending us to our deaths. And they know it, too._

_They know it, and they can’t do anything._

But he couldn't run away. There was nowhere to go. So he followed Bruce unsteadily to the steps on the side of the stage, pressed close to his friend because if they were going to die, he wasn’t going to let them separate him from his friend, his only friend he had left. 

They couldn’t take that away from him.

One of Jerome’s followers, a broad-shouldered man who towered over Jeremiah by half a foot, grabbed his arm roughly and held out one of the explosive-wired contraptions that encircled the necks of the prisoners onstage. “Put this on.” he growled, and Jeremiah stared at him. 

“Wh-what do…”

“Put it _on.”_ he repeated, dragging the boy closer and closing the apparatus around his neck. Jeremiah reached up to try and pull it off, but the man glared at him and he let go, allowing the thug to shove him into one of the empty seats alongside the prisoners and tie his wrists to the arm rests.

“Do you _enjoy_ being compliant?” the voice in his head snapped. “You like letting them take control after all? That’s what you’ve come to?”

_What else can I do? I can’t run away. I can’t do anything._

His shoulders tensed as Jerome sat down next to him, microphone in one hand, detonator in the other. He cast an amused, sidelong look at his twin, then turned to address the crowd. Jeremiah wasn't listening, he couldn’t hear anything above the ringing in his ears, the way his thoughts were racing and trying to conjure up some sort of plan, _something_ to get out of here.

But there was nothing.

He could do nothing.

Bruce was sitting on the other side of Jerome, watching both twins at intervals. His face betrayed nothing, and Jeremiah could only hope he looked the same. That he didn’t look scared out of his wits. 

_But you’re nothing like Bruce. They all know how scared you are. They can all see it._

_Everyone is watching you._

_Waiting for you to die._

_They don’t care about you._

Jerome’s voice floated back into his consciousness, sounding faint and far away for a moment. “…every parent has their favorites.” He was looking straight at Jeremiah again, something cruel and bitter and _hateful_ in his eyes. There was no laughter, not anymore. This was the Jerome he remembered from his earliest days of madness. When he’d first tried to get Jeremiah to join him, threatening and scaring him until his twin broke down and cried, then shouting at him for being a baby, not being brave enough, _strong_ enough, not enough like Jerome…

_You were never enough._

And he was breaking down _now,_ in front of all these people, Jerome was finally getting his way, maybe it was a culmination of everything that had happened to him, everything Jerome had done, or maybe it was just a long time coming.

Maybe it had been inevitable from the start.

_Maybe this is the real you._

He shook his head. No. He couldn’t believe that, not now. Not when he needed to be brave. Not when Bruce wanted him to be brave.

He wasn't like Jerome.

“But I know something,” his twin was saying, lips pressed against the microphone as he leaned in close to Jeremiah, who flinched away, “that mommy and daddy, they never knew.”

_No._

_Don’t say that._

_Don't say it in front of everyone._

_You can’t, because it’s not true, it’s a lie you’ve tried to make me believe for years, and I won't believe it. But these people, they don't know the truth, they only know what you tell them, and if you say it, then they’ll all believe…_

“You’re as crazy as I am.”

The words reverberated, tinged with static and microphone feedback, in the still air. There wasn’t a sound from the crowd, not a single person moved. Jeremiah was staring at Jerome, betrayal in his dark eyes, because he knew Jerome believed it, and he knew he wanted Jeremiah to believe it as well, but it had always been kept between them, it had been theirs to know, it wasn’t for anyone else to hear. Because no one else would understand, they wouldn’t know that Jerome had been doing this for _years,_ they would only hear the words and they would believe it, and once everyone else believed it, Jeremiah would have nowhere left to go.

Nowhere to hide from anyone.

No one to trust.

_I’m not crazy, I’m not, I’m not, please believe me, I’m not like Jerome, I’m not a shadow and I’m not a copy and I’m better than him if you would just give me a chance, if I could show you I would never become like him, because I’m sane, no matter what he says…I’m sane, and I know what I'm doing, and I’m not bad like him…_

Tears stood in his eyes and he couldn’t look away from Jerome, who was still staring at him with uncharacteristic seriousness. His gaze was searching Jeremiah’s now, identical dark brown eyes meeting each other in the silence, and there was a quiet sort of triumph in Jerome’s expression now, tinged with a strange resignation…no, not exactly resignation.

Satisfaction.

Jeremiah had never seen a look in his eyes like that before, and it scared him.

It was as if Jerome was trying to tell him something.

Trying to _prepare_ him.

Slowly, his brother stood up, setting the microphone down on the chair and pulling a switchblade from his pocket. The blade clicked open, shining in the late afternoon sun, pointed straight at Jeremiah, who pressed himself against the back of the chair and tried to control the rising terror on his face.

_Please, please, please don’t..._

_Don’t do this again…_

Memories were crashing through his brain now, out of control and spiraling into darkness as they flashed in his mind’s eye. Memories of Jerome standing over him with a knife…their birthday, their eighth birthday, and Jerome had him backed up against the wall, cake crumbs and icing still clinging to the edge of the blade as he laughed in Jeremiah’s face…and then it was a year before that, when Jerome had threatened to kill his brother if he told their mother about the animals he was torturing and mutilating…and then he saw Galavan’s apartment, and he saw Jerome pushing him into the corner, the knife held high as he tried to get Jeremiah to fight him, and Jeremiah wouldn’t because he _wasn’t like Jerome,_ and he couldn’t be threatened into becoming his brother. 

Couldn’t he?

“ _You and me, we’re the same, whether you like it or not. And if I’m crazy, then guess what. So are you.”_

Jerome was still standing there, waiting, watching. 

Almost as if he was listening to his brother’s thoughts.

_“No. That’s not true.”_

_“It is, and you know it. You just don’t want to accept it.”_

_“I’m not like you. I’m not. We’re nothing alike.”_

_“Yeah, keep tellin’ yourself that. See how far that gets you. Sooner or later, you’ll realize I’ve been right all along.”_

Everything was quiet, too quiet, and Jeremiah couldn’t remember where he was anymore. He _saw_ the penthouse, saw his brother, three years younger, _both_ of them three years younger because they were twins, goddamit, _twins, identical, perfectly alike…_

_“I would never be like you. No one ever would. You’re alone.”_

He could still remember the way the knife had twisted into his arm, the way the blood had dripped down his hand, snaked across his fingers in dark streams, and how he had thought Jerome would kill him, just like he was going to kill him now…

_ You were wrong. _

_He’s not alone, he has you, because he always finds you, he never stops this._

_When will he ever stop?_

Jerome stooped to his eye level, the knife still so close, _so close,_ and Jeremiah realized they were still on the stage, realized that this was it, this was finally how it would all end, and he hadn't even gotten to say goodbye to Bruce yet, Bruce, his best friend in the world…

His brother’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “We’ve got the same blood runnin’ through us.” The edge of the knife grazed over Jeremiah’s wrist, and he flinched, his lower lip trembling. 

_Don’t cry, don’t be weak, don't let him win this time, please don’t let him win…_

“We,” Jerome’s voice was barely above a whisper now, only loud enough for Jeremiah to hear, and his eyes bore into him steadily, without the tiniest flicker of insanity, “are practically identical.”

Jeremiah’s breath slowed, matched his brother’s, and for a moment, he almost believed Jerome. Almost _wanted_ to believe him, because it was so convincing. 

_No, you can’t._

_You can’t let him do this to you._

His twin’s next words were soft, almost soothing, and there was a warmth in his eyes that Jeremiah almost thought was pride. “You are a killer.” 

_Oh God, you are._

And then he was back in the penthouse again, kneeling in the blood that wasn’t his, or was it? He couldn’t remember, but he was holding a knife, and there was a body in front of him— _Jerome’s_ body—because he had killed him, he was a killer…

Jerome gave him a small smile, encouraging him. _For what? What does he want?_ Suddenly, the blade flashed down, and Jeremiah steeled himself for pain, but it stopped right above his hand, cutting through the ties that bound him to the chair. With one quick jerk of the knife, he was free. Jerome straightened up.

“It’s your nature.” he continued, rolling his shoulders back, tilting his head to crack the joints in his neck. Jeremiah stared up at him. “Stop trying to fight it.”

_No, there's nothing to fight, there’s nothing because you don’t have to prove your sanity, you_ are _sane, it’s him, it’s his problem, because he’s the one who’s crazy…_

But if they were truly identical…

Jerome held out the knife. 

Holding his breath, Jeremiah looked at it, confused, then up at his brother again. At first he didn’t understand, didn’t _want_ to understand, but when he saw the smile beginning to grow again on Jerome’s face, he knew.

_It’s a second chance._

_He’s making you do it all over again._

_In front of everyone this time._

“No.” he whispered, and Jerome’s smile twitched, faltered with disappointment.

“No?” he echoed. “After everything, it’s still a no?” He shook his head slowly, eyes darkening. “Not even after what happened to your friend? What about  _her?”_

Jeremiah shuddered. “Don’t talk about her. It was your fault. Everything has always been your fault.”

“So here’s your chance to take it all back. Take your revenge.” Jerome spread his arms out.

_“Go ahead, kill me.”_

He couldn’t do it. Not in front of the world like this. He couldn’t let them know who he…

_“I know you want to.”_

Who he really was.

_“I don’t know what you’re waiting for. Are you scared? Because that would be disappointing. You were doing so well.”_

Who he could be, if he was pushed far enough.

He had done it once before.

 

He remembered that look in Jerome’s eyes just moments before…that indecipherable satisfaction, that sense of finality. As if he knew everything was over before it happened.

“You can do it, you know.” the voice in his head murmured, so faint that Jeremiah thought it was the wind at first. “No one will blame you. They’ll understand.”

_But Bruce…Bruce doesn’t kill…_

“You are not Bruce. You said it yourself.”

_I can’t…I can't do it. Jerome wants me to, he wants to win…_

“How will he win if he’s dead? He doesn’t really believe you’ll do it.” There was a pause. “This is the only way you can be stronger than him. Better than him. _Remembered._ No one will forget you after this.”

_No one…_

_Not Gotham, not Jim Gordon, not Jerome, not Selina…not Bruce…_

_Not Bruce._

_No one will forget you._

Jerome was still smiling. His voice was low, steady. Prepared. “Take your best shot.”

“Do it. Let them forget him. Put him in the ground where he belongs for good.”

_Do it so they will remember you._

_Do it for Bruce…_

Without realizing what he was doing, he grabbed the knife handle, wrenching it away from Jerome’s grasp and swinging it towards him. Before he could land a blow, his brother latched a hand around his wrist, twisting his arm back and sending a punch to his ribcage. Jeremiah reeled, backing away, and Jerome swung his fist again, knocking his twin to the ground as sporadic giggles filled the air. 

“Oh, that was so good!” His voice was back to its normal pitch, and Jeremiah curled in on himself, pressing his hands to his face, the only thought that crossed his mind was that he was an _idiot,_ how had he believed that would work…

Suddenly there was another hail of gunshots raging through the sky above them on the rooftops, and the blows stopped landing as Jerome looked up. Jeremiah scrambled away from him, out of breath and dizzy, and suddenly everyone was shouting, trying to run away, and he didn’t even know what had happened.

Then the sound of a bullet whizzed by his face and he ducked, waiting for it to hit him. He was almost surprised when it didn’t. Before he could try to escape, something grabbed his arm and pulled him down from the stage into the melee below. Jeremiah tried to disentangle himself from the mess, but he was being dragged away, and he couldn’t do anything but follow.

To his horror, the moment the crowd began to clear around him, he saw it was Jerome holding onto him, grinning like a pyromaniac at a firework festival. Jeremiah didn’t have time to react, because his brother ran off down a nearby alley, pulling him along with him.

When he could finally see straight, they were at the entrance of an apartment building, the door swinging open on the hinges. There was a staircase that spiraled up into darkness, and Jeremiah leaned against the alley wall, trying to breathe, trying to think how he could escape. He didn’t have time to be afraid, everything had happened to quickly.

Jerome his dug his phone out of his pocket and was now talking to someone on the other line. A shadow crossed the sun and Jeremiah looked up to see a giant blimp floating overhead. His jaw dropped at the sight, certain this was part of the plan as well. How could it not be, when his brother always had to be as elaborate and theatrical as possible?

When he turned back to Jerome, the latter was putting the phone away and reaching for his hand again. Jeremiah balked at the touch, then stared at his twin’s bloodstained shoulder. “You…” The world began to swim again. “You got shot?”

“Good ol’ Jimothy an’ his army marksmanship.” Jerome laughed, unbothered. He started up the stairs and Jeremiah had no choice but to follow. “But it doesn’t matter.”

Jeremiah wanted to ask why it didn’t matter, why nothing seemed to matter, why the only time Jerome seemed serious about anything was when he had handed him the knife on that stage. He didn’t know what any of it meant, and at this rate, he couldn’t even begin to understand.

Soon enough, they were on the roof. The blimp hung overhead like a giant bloated bird in the sky, and Jerome pulled his brother over to the edge, staring up admiringly. Jeremiah wrapped his arms around his aching ribs, shaking all over and thoroughly confused.

Nothing was making _sense._

“Maybe that’s the point.” the voice in his head laughed.

There was the sound of running footsteps behind them and Jerome jerked around just in time to see Jim Gordon emerge from behind a clothesline. “Hands up!” the police captain shouted, and the redhead sneered at him before grabbing onto his brother and jumping behind him.

“Ya don’t mind if I use you as a human shield, right?” he muttered in Jeremiah’s ear. 

“Let him go, Jerome!” Gordon called, but his steps slowed and he lowered his gun. Jerome smiled.

“That’s better."

“I said let him go.” the man's voice was quieter now, forcefully controlled, but no less commanding. Jerome pulled out the switchblade and clicked it open, pressing the edge to his brother’s throat while his other arm encircled his neck. Jeremiah struggled futilely for a moment, then stopped, knowing it was pointless. His breath came in short, erratic spurts, and he felt something dark and painful and _burning_ well up in him.

Something he’d never felt before.

He _hated_ his brother.

Hated what he had become.

What they had both become.

“Hmm, nah.” Jerome said too loudly, poking his head around Jeremiah’s shoulder. “I’m not quite ready to go yet.” Something in his words struck Jeremiah as odd. _What does he mean, yet?_ “Still gotta do a few things.” He pulled out his phone again, holding it out, and Gordon raised his pistol. Jeremiah cringed, shutting his eyes, and stifled a gasp as the shot flew by him, knocking the phone out of his brother’s hand. Jerome hissed in disappointment.

“Ugh, seriously? You just gotta spoil all my fun.”

“You’ve lost, Jerome.” Gordon’s voice was louder now. “Your plain failed. _You're_ a failure.”

From behind him, Jeremiah felt his twin shudder with anger. 

Gordon continued, “The toxin stays up there, and you won’t be driving the city mad today.” Jeremiah didn’t understand what he meant by that…didn’t know what toxin he was talking about, but he knew Jerome was furious by the way his breath rasped in and out, faster and faster. 

_Don't kill me, please don’t kill me…_

The knife was still against his throat.

“Your goons are dead, the hostages were freed and are currently being transported to the GCPD. You,” Gordon stepped closer, slowly. “have failed, Jerome.”

There was a strained laugh. “Did I? Pardon me for saying so, but I think you’re understating everything that happened. Are you forgetting that _I_ broke out of Arkham with eighty inmates and it took your _entire_ police force to even start to find any of ‘em?” The knife shifted against Jeremiah’s neck as Jerome leaned closer. “I wouldn’t call _that_ a failure, Jimothy.”

_But he didn’t break out. Not on his own._

_It wasn’t him._

Gordon was standing very still, watching them. Jerome was staring back at him, fury in his eyes.

“You, and dear little broski here,” he leaned up against Jeremiah, voice grating in his ear, “always seem to underestimate me, don’t ya? Now, I find that _hurtful.”_

_Underestimate you?_

_Everything you’ve done is because I’ve let you do it._

_The breakout, everything…_

The hatred sparked up inside Jeremiah again, fierce and unstoppable and _powerful._ If he was going to die like this, alone and forgotten on an apartment rooftop, at least he would let Jerome know _he_ wasn’t always in control. 

It was the only satisfaction he could gain anymore.

He twisted around, ignoring the way the knife slid across his neck, leaving a shallow cut, and met Jerome’s gaze. He was still scared, still _terrified_ of what his twin would do to him, but his hatred was stronger now. Stronger than _him._

And stronger than Jerome.

“You didn’t break out of Arkham.” he said steadily, quiet enough so Gordon couldn’t hear. He savored the way his voice didn't break, didn’t waver. For a moment, he thought maybe it was just the voice in his head speaking, but no…it was him.

It was really him, now.

Jerome raised one eyebrow. “Whaddya mean?”

“You didn’t break out.” he repeated, even stronger this time. He was trembling, but his voice was still steady. Jerome curled his lip at him in a mocking smile.

“I didn't huh? Then how did I get here?”

“I mean it wasn’t you. It wasn’t your plan.” Jeremiah watched as understanding slowly worked its way into his twin’s expression. “Why do you think the experienced guards were fired and replaced with new ones? Why would anyone put naive prison guards in a max security ward on accident unless it had been planned by someone else?”

Jerome tilted his head like a bird. “Exactly what are you saying, baby bro?” 

“Who do you _think_ arranged for that to happen?” Jeremiah said between his teeth. "Prison breakouts can't be entirely governed by blind luck."

His brother gave a breathy laugh. “You’re saying that was you?”

“I knew Arkham wouldn’t keep you for long. I had to break you out to bring you somewhere more secure.” Jeremiah hesitated. “I know that part didn’t work, but _you_ still weren’t the one who escaped the asylum. It was me. All me.”

“Hmm, I wanna believe you, but I know it ain't true.” Jerome was looking at him intently, scrutinizingly. “See, you're missin' one little piece of the puzzle. How’d ya know I’d _want_ to break out?”

“The headline.” Jeremiah said quickly, flinching as the knife edge pressed deeper in his neck when Jerome’s grip tightened. “You saw the headline about me. I know, because I had Ecco put it there.” Saying her name aloud stung in his throat. “Everything that happened was because of me, and you were just a pawn in the game. Without even knowing it.”

_And that’s all._

_Kill me now, if you want._

_Now you know the truth._

Jerome was silent for a long time. From behind them, Gordon was standing by the clothesline, tense and at the ready. He hadn't heard any of the conversation. Jeremiah looked his brother in the eye.

_Now you know I’m better than you._

_Do whatever you want._

The laughter was quiet at first, then Jerome doubled over, caught up in a breathless fit of mirth. Jeremiah stared at him, unmoving, waiting for the moment his brother would cut his throat open and leave him to choke on his own blood. He knew it was coming, there couldn’t be any other option.

Jerome’s laughter trickled off eventually, and he lifted his gaze to his twin’s face, his eyes shining. His lips twitched and he retracted the switchblade, tossing it to the side. It clattered on the concrete alongside the busted phone. 

There was still shouting and chaos in the streets below, but Jeremiah couldn’t hear it anymore. He forced himself to maintain eye contact with Jerome, who slowly backed toward the edge of the roof. Keeping Jeremiah between him and Gordon, he climbed onto the ledge, dragging his twin with him. The wind whipped around them, and Jeremiah tried not to look down.

“Are you gonna push me off?” he asked numbly, feeling very tired. He’d thought his death would come in a moment of pure horror, but right now, he couldn’t summon up an emotion like that anymore. Maybe it was for the best. 

Jerome’s arm encircled his shoulders, and he smiled. It was a different sort of smile than usual, and that finality was back in his eyes. A kind of surrender. 

“Now, why would I do that?” he asked softly, humor tinging his words. “After all I’ve done, you think I would kill you _now?”_

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Oh, no.” Jerome shook his head slowly, pulling Jeremiah so close that their foreheads touched, and Jeremiah shut his eyes, shaking all over. Maybe this was a trick, Jerome trying to lull him into a false sense of security before he struck. That must be it, there wasn’t another explanation.

_It’s over. It’s ended now. He’s not gonna let you live._

_At least now he knows what you’ve done._

_He knows who you are…who you’ve become._

Maybe he was that person because of Jerome, because of what his brother had done to him. Maybe the real Jeremiah never would have even considered the breakout plan, never would have allowed innocent guards to die in the ensuing chaos, never would have so spitefully told the truth to his brother because he knew it would hurt him.

“The real Jeremiah?” the voice in his head broke in. “You _are_ the real Jeremiah. It’s not as if you become someone else because you’ve changed.” It chuckled softly. 

_ But I'm not the same. How can I still be me if I'm not the _ same?

He didn't care if he admitted who he was now. That he'd changed from who he once wanted to be. Why did it matter, if he was going to die, anyway?

“It’s not a new identity." the voice insisted. "You're still who you used to be. Only now you understand more. You understand yourself." It paused for a moment. "Think of it as…”

“Evolution.” Jeremiah whispered to himself. Jerome was still smiling at him, and he dropped his arm from where it was slung over Jeremiah's shoulder. 

“Yes.” he replied, as if he knew what his brother had been thinking. “Now you know.”

Jeremiah stared at him as Jerome stepped out from behind him, standing on the ledge in front of Gordon, who kept his gun high, aimed straight at the criminal's chest.  “What are you doing? I thought you were going to kill me.” It wasn’t as if he _wanted_ that to happen, but he was just so confused…

He didn’t understand anything.

Jerome turned to look at him, his dark brown eyes, identical to Jeremiah’s in every way, glittering with satisfaction.“Change of plans.” he laughed, his coattails catching in the wind and fluttering out behind him. Jeremiah held his breath, waiting, though for what he didn’t know.

Jerome pulled a pistol from his belt in one quick motion, pointing the barrel toward Gordon, who stiffened, a finger hovered over his own trigger. 

_What’s he doing, what does he want, why hasn’t he killed me…_

“You’re ready now.” Jerome said quietly, and Jeremiah wouldn’t have even heard the words if he hadn’t been listening for them. They were swallowed up in the wind milliseconds later, and Jerome tossed him his trademark grin as he shot the pistol into the air, above Gordon’s head. Reflexively, the police captain shot back, and Jeremiah drew a short, shuddering breath when he saw a bloodstain begin to spread across his brother’s chest as he stood on the ledge. 

_Gordon shot him._

_He shot him, he shot him, he’s going to…_

Jerome turned his head and met Jeremiah’s panicked gaze again. He winked at his twin, mouth twisting up at the corners, then his eyes glazed over and he toppled backwards, plummeting from the roof to the ground below. 

There was a crash, which Jeremiah didn’t dare look at to see what it was, and then silence.

Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm began to go off.

He stared down at the switchblade on the rooftop, the edges glittering with blood and the silver shining in the sunlight, and felt nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes that one was really long whoops haha
> 
>  
> 
> lmk what you think :))


	26. Evolution

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

 

The silence in the bunker was stifling.

Jeremiah stared straight ahead of him as he made his way down the hall, his hands shoved into his coat pockets and his entire frame unwittingly tense. It had been a long day…a _horribly_ long day…and although he was exhausted to the point of barely being able to keep his eyes open, his nerves were still on edge, nearly breaking apart for good this time. 

He still couldn’t quite process anything that had happened in the past few days. It was like living in some twisted nightmare version of his life, reminiscent of the terrible dream he’d had about him and Bruce all those months ago, standing on the edge of an endless darkness, teetering precariously above the dangerous unknown below.

And just like in the nightmare, he was afraid he would lose his balance.

Fall into…well, fall into whatever it might be. 

“ _Evolve_.” the voice in his head whispered. “Don’t you remember? It’s an evolution.”

_But I don’t want to change. I don’t want to become like that. I just want to be myself._

“Why don't you understand?” The voice rose louder. He thought maybe it wasn’t just in his head anymore. But it couldn’t be, it was only him here in the bunker, it could only be in his mind. “You can’t go back.”

_“Stop trying to fight it.”_

“You’re someone else now, Jeremiah. It’s time to start acting like that. Time to face the truth.”

“It’s time for you to shut up.” he muttered aloud, grateful for his own _familiar_ voice breaking the silence. He stepped inside the workshop, closing the door behind him as if that could keep the other voice away, and stared dispassionately at his energy converter. For a moment he thought about working on it and maybe fixing some of the issues with the prototype, in an effort to calm his thoughts and redirect his attention, but he knew he wouldn't be able to focus. Not now. Not after everything.

He sighed, pulling off his coat and wishing he could _feel_ something. He’d expected a torrent of emotions flooding his brain going every which way at once, but he only felt somewhat dazed, as if he hadn’t been a part of everything that had happened, only an onlooker observing from a distance.

His hand brushed against the sleeve of his coat as he set it down, and he noticed the dried blood clinging to the fabric. He shuddered, pulling his hand away. This wasn't the time for reminders of the day’s events…he wasn’t going to think about that. He still couldn’t realize what had happened.

Stifling a shiver, he turned away, his eyes flickering automatically toward the monitors. They had been turned off, the screens dark. He considered turning them on to check that the halls were secure, then stopped.

_Why? What’s the point?_

_Who’s going to come after you now?_

Not his brother, certainly. Because Jerome…

_Jerome is dead._

The echo of the gunshot rang in his ears as if it was happening all over again, and something tightened in his chest. He didn’t just feel numb anymore, he felt _empty._

As if he had lost something.

_He's dead for good this time._ he tried to reassure himself, but it didn’t make him feel better. The emptiness only grew, feeding off his thoughts, creeping into his mind like a dark cloud. Jeremiah shook his head. 

_And this time, it’s not because of you. It's not your fault. You have nothing to hide anymore._

_You don’t have to hide._

But then he remembered what Jerome had said in front of all those people. The words that were supposed to have been kept between them, because even if they weren’t true—and they _weren’t,_ he told himself firmly—it wasn’t right for anyone else to hear it.

He remembered how his brother’s voice had grated into the microphone, his dark eyes drilling into Jeremiah as he’d spoken those words, the ones Jeremiah hated so much.

_“You’re as crazy as I am.”_

For the first time since he had arrived at the safety of his home, Jeremiah felt hot tears burn his eyes. It wasn’t _fair_ of Jerome to do that, it was cruel and malicious and _wrong,_ and he’d given Jeremiah a reason all over again to hide from the world.

To stay hidden, in case anyone really began to believe he _was_ insane. If anyone began to compare them. 

It was the final blow to his twin’s psyche, and Jerome had known it.

Jeremiah poured a glass of whiskey from the side table, staring listlessly at the neglected blueprints hanging on the wall. Part of him wished he’d accepted the offer Bruce had made him earlier in the day to stay at Wayne Manor for the night…after Gordon shot Jerome (he still couldn't think about that, his mind hadn’t begun to sort it all out yet), Jeremiah had followed him silently down the stairs, and the police captain left him standing on the sidewalk as he went to go help calm the crowd and do something about the blimp that had been floating away toward the river. Jeremiah had watched him go, purposefully not looking at the dented car that stood just a few feet away, one limp, bloodstained hand dangling over the edge, and stared at the ground until the onlookers had begun to disperse. He would likely have gone on standing there all night, his eyes, wide and haunted, looking nervously around at the few stragglers who continued to poke and prod at the body that had once been Jerome, if Bruce hadn’t shown up. His friend hadn’t said much, he’d only asked if Jeremiah wanted to stay in his old room at Wayne Manor for a little while, but Jeremiah had declined. He didn’t _want_ to leave Bruce…he would have given anything to have been able to say yes to the offer…but something in him wouldn’t allow it. 

So he had given Bruce a small, painfully fake, smile, and said he would be all right on his own.

They both knew it was a lie, but Bruce hadn’t pressed the matter (Jeremiah wished he had.)

Gordon had wanted him to stay, to come back to the police station to answer some questions, but Jeremiah had quietly slipped away before they could make him say anything. Fortunately, there had been so much happening that no one had noticed…they most likely still hadn't. He’d pushed his way through the remaining crowd, called a taxi, and gone home, the blank, wary expression on his face never changing, and the tension in his shoulders never relaxing.

Even at home, safely hidden away from everyone, his nerves were still unsteady. He didn’t… _couldn’t…_ believe this was all over for good. It didn’t _feel_ like it was over. And that was the part that confused him.

He took a sip of the whiskey, grateful for the burn in his throat because it was better than feeling numb. There was no good reason why he should still be worried…he’d seen Jerome fall from that roof with his own eyes, watched his brother’s death firsthand. 

Jerome was _gone._

“Maybe,” the voice broke in, “that’s why you feel this way.”

Jeremiah took off his glasses, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “What do you mean?” Since when had he gone back to placating the voice by acknowledging it? He’d thought he was over that by now.

“Jerome’s death means nothing. It’s not the end of anything. Well, maybe it is for him, but you're still here. There is no ending.”

He sighed, picking up the glass of whiskey again. “I just want to feel like it’s really over, for once. Why can’t I at least have that?”

“Because it _isn’t_ over.” the voice said forcefully. “If it was supposed to be over, you’d be dead by now. Just like Jerome.”

The words reminded him of the confusion that had been lurking in the back of his mind, and Jeremiah frowned. “But that’s what I don’t understand. He was going to kill me. He said it himself. He was going to kill me, but then he…he let Gordon kill _him.”_

_He could have killed you at any point. He was planing on it. But he never did, something changed, he changed his mind._

_Why?_

_It's all he’s ever wanted to do, isn’t it? So why didn’t he do it when he had the chance?_

“There’s no point in wondering that now.” the voice noted. “It’s not as if you can ask him.”

Jeremiah turned back to the generator prototype, absently fiddling with a loose wire. “I know. I just wish I could understand.” He knew that was the reason for his sense of restlessness now, the incomplete feeling. This wasn’t how the story was supposed to end…Jerome was supposed to kill him. He’d always known it was coming, spent his whole life preparing for it. And even when Jerome had been dead the first time, Jeremiah had known he’d come back. He _had_ come back, and he would keep trying to kill his brother until he succeeded.

But Jeremiah didn’t think he was coming back this time.

He had seen that finality in Jerome’s eyes. The satisfaction. 

He didn’t _want_ to come back.

Not even to kill his brother.

Jeremiah’s frown deepened. “He wanted me alive.” he murmured, twining the wires around each other. “After all these years, he’s changed his mind and wanted me alive.” A shudder worked its way through his body, sudden unease sweeping over him.

_Why?_

The revelation only left him more confused than before.

And now the empty feeling was back, as if there was a gaping hole in his chest, and he didn't know how to fill it. It wasn’t loneliness…it was something stronger, something he couldn’t fix on his own. Surely it couldn’t be because Jerome was gone…Jeremiah had only ever wanted his brother out of his life, and now that it was finally true, he should be _happy,_ shouldn’t he?

_So why does it all feel so empty?_

_So incomplete?_

He drew in a shaking breath, fingers tightening on the wires he was holding.

_Maybe you really did need Jerome._

“Don’t think like that.” the voice said sharply, bitingly. Jeremiah could practically feel the venom radiating off the words. “You don't need him. You’re better than him, remember?”

“I…I only said those things because I didn’t know what else to do.” Jeremiah ducked his head at the memory. He still wasn't sure why he’d told Jerome about the truth behind the breakout…in fact, it seemed like that revelation had been what encouraged his brother to throw his own life away, and Jeremiah had been even more confused at that. “You know I don't really believe it.” It was easier admitting that to the voice than it was admitting it to himself.

“Well, you should.” It sounded displeased. “After all, he’s dead, isn’t he? _You,_ on the other hand, are alive and unscathed. I’d consider that a win.”

“Doesn’t always feel like one.” he muttered to himself.

“He didn’t accomplish anything he wanted.” it continued. “Nothing at all. Gordon said it, too. He called Jerome a failure, don’t you remember? You’re not the only one who knows the truth.”

His fingers twitched against the wires and he pulled them away, resting one hand on the top of the prototype. “The truth?”

“That you’re better.”

“Just because I’m not dead doesn’t mean I’ll be more successful than him.” he said quietly. Sure, _success_ wasn’t quite the right word to describe Jerome’s escapades throughout Gotham… _fame_ was more like it. Somehow, in the moment, Jeremiah didn't see a difference. “I haven’t _done_ anything.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t know.” Tired of the conversation, he swirled the whiskey around in the glass and wandered over to the desk, brushing aside the papers stacked all around, trying to distract himself. He wasn't even really looking at anything, and started in surprise when his hand bumped against a small box sitting in the middle of the desk. 

He blinked at it suspiciously, trying to remember where it had come from. It was small and nondescript, aside from the white ribbon tied to the top. Jeremiah didn’t ever recall seeing it before…it looked like some sort of gift. 

_But no one’s been in here…_

He looked over his shoulder as sudden paranoia shot through him. What if he wasn't really alone, what if someone had snuck into the bunker somehow and had been listening to his entire conversation with himself…they would really think he was crazy, everyone would think he was crazy…

He stood perfectly still, listening for a full minute, but heard nothing.

He was alone.

Tentatively, he turned back to the box, picking it up carefully and turning it over in his hands as he bit down on his lip in concentration. A label fluttered out from under the ribbon and he picked it up, eyes widening when he read the inscription.

_From Wayne Enterprises._

The quickened pace of his heartbeat slowed and a ghost of a smile flitted across his face. Simply seeing the name erased any apprehension he had…it was a name he could trust, he could _always_ trust Bruce, even if his promises sometimes fell through and even if sometimes he didn't understand how much Jeremiah needed him.

Because Bruce was his best friend.

And now that he had finally realized that, now that he had let himself back into Jeremiah’s life, they could _always_ be friends.

Forever.

Jeremiah realized Bruce must have left the gift behind for him when he had come to the bunker with Gordon and Fox. The emptiness inside him slowly began to fade away. _You’ve never deserved a friend like him._ Bruce must have seen the headline in the paper about his invention…so he _had_ been paying him attention all this time, Jeremiah just hadn’t known it.

_God, you don't deserve him._

The thought only increased his need to never let Bruce leave him again.

_He’s yours, your friend, belongs to you, because you need each other, he always keeps coming back…_

Jeremiah shook his head sharply, not realizing how his hands were trembling until he almost dropped the gift. He steadied himself, head reeling. 

“You don't need to hide from the truth.” the voice said calmly. “You both know it. If he wasn’t yours, why would he continue to return every time? There’s nothing illogical about your reasoning.”

“I know, it’s just…” he trailed off, not sure what to say. _It just feels wrong, somehow. You shouldn't think like that. That’s not how real friends are supposed to be._ He’d almost forgotten about the box in his hands. 

“But he does belong to you.” it pointed out. "You belong to each other. It’s always been that way, hasn’t it? Everything the both of you do, it always comes around to bring you together. That’s got to count for something, hasn’t it?” 

“Or it’s an unrealistic desire for a normal human relationship after my homicidal maniac I called a brother spent his life trying to end mine.” Jeremiah shot back. “You know as well as I do that that’s at least _part_ of it.” He’d always known that, but somehow, saying it aloud hurt. Bruce _wasn’t_ just a replacement of who Jerome was supposed to be…he wasn’t a distraction from the reality Jeremiah had always tried to ignore. He was _more_ than that, he was a real friend…he was _family,_ Bruce himself had said that, hadn’t he?

“It doesn’t really matter what he is to you.” the voice said. “What matters is that you never, ever let him go."

_Never let him go._

“But what if—”

“You need him, Jeremiah.” it interrupted before he could continue. “And don’t try to argue, you know it’s true. You need him because he's everything Jerome never was for you, _nobody_ every was for you. Jerome wasn’t your brother, he was a monster, a monster who only wanted to hurt you because he _could._ Bruce is what you needed Jerome to be, he’s what you should have had a long time ago. He was right when he said you are family, because he’s the only thing you’ve ever had that’s remotely like that. That's why you can’t let him go.”

_The closest thing to family you'll ever have…_

His grip tightened around the box.

“Jerome was never your brother. Not your real brother. Don’t you realize that, Jeremiah?” It sounded almost angry now. “Look what he _did_ to you. He reduced you to a paranoid recluse, scared of your own shadow. You need Bruce, because he can take that away. He can be what Jerome never was.”

_And what is that?_ He didn’t bother asking the question aloud. The voice was in his head, after all.

“Bruce,” it said softly, almost hypnotically, and Jeremiah held his breath, “is the brother you never really had.”

_And he’s all you have left now._

Jeremiah finally realized he had been standing by the desk holding onto the gift for nearly five minutes. He waited for the voice to speak again, but it was finally silent, which was a relief. He didn't like the way it would leap into his thoughts without warning, almost as if it wasn’t really him, although he knew it was. _That_ wasn’t a very pleasant realization, either. The voice didn't scare him as much as it used to…he didn’t ever give much thought as to why…but he still hated how cruel it could sound sometimes, how…corrupt.

He didn't want to be like that.

With a sigh, he looked down at the box in his hands and began to unwrap the ribbon from the top, carefully placing the tag on the desk where it wouldn’t get accidentally tossed into the trash. He hadn’t received many gifts in his life, and knowing this was from Bruce of all people made him smile.

Maybe today hadn’t been _all_ bad.

Very bad, yes, but not as bad as it could have been.

And anyway, it was over now. 

The wrapping paper fell away to reveal a bright patterned wooden box, red and green and purple spirals curving around each of the edges. Jeremiah tilted his head curiously, wondering what sort of gift this was. _Leave it to Bruce to find something unique_ , he thought.

He finally found the latch to open it, and flipped the small metal hook up.

_He always knows how to make you smile._

Without warning, the lid flew open and something sprang out toward Jeremiah’s face. He gasped in surprise and flinched back, staring at the hideously distorted jack-in-the-box that was leering at him with a cracked paint-flaked grin. He froze, utterly confused, unable to form a clear thought as his mind struggled to catch up. The face terrified him, reminded him of the circus when he’d been much younger and scared to death of the clowns who worked there.

_Why would Bruce…_

Before he could finish the thought, there was a hissing sound, and Jeremiah noticed a small pipe protruding from the grinning mouth. His eyes widened, but before he could move, a cloud of purple-tinged smoke billowed out, straight into his face. He sucked in a breath and regretted it instantly, lungs burning like fire and eyes stinging. He tossed the box away, onto the desk, and backed away unsteadily, one hand coming up to touch his face.

He jerked it away a moment later as a sharp, blistering pain seared through his skin at the contact, and he coughed, trying to breathe as the smoke clogged his throat. His heart was racing and he was scared, more scared than he had ever been before, because he had no idea what was happening, he didn't understand why Bruce would do this to him, and he didn’t know what it _was,_ why it was hurting…

_This wasn’t Bruce, this wasn't him, it was a trick, you’ve been tricked and now you…_

His legs wobbled and he stumbled up against the table, beginning to panic when he found he still couldn’t breathe, he felt like he was choking and he couldn’t see more than a blur around him as his eyes continued to sting and tears welled up…unconsciously, his fingers brushed against his throat and the burning in his skin started again, like someone had touched a hot poker to the side of his neck, and he gave a strained, harsh gasp, staring around wildly.

_Please, please make it stop…_

He could breathe now, but it was too fast and too shallow and he tried to hold onto the table, knowing he would fall it he didn't steady himself. The smoke wasn't coming out of the jack-in-the-box anymore, but he could see it lingering in the air all around him, and he tried to get away but he couldn’t move, couldn't get his body to cooperate. The tears in his eyes spilled over and began to roll down his cheeks, and it felt like molten fire. He whimpered in pain, silently begging, pleading for this to be a nightmare and he was going to wake up soon, he had to wake up…

Jerome’s voice cut through the sound of his ragged breathing and Jeremiah’s head jerked up as he stared through the tears, searching the darkened room for his brother.

_But he's supposed to be dead, he_ is _dead, I watched him fall, I saw him…_

“Hello, brother.” Jerome said, but he wasn’t there, Jeremiah couldn’t see him anywhere, and he spun around to see if maybe his twin was behind him, but he wasn’t, it was only his voice, coming from everywhere at once, every word pounding through his head relentlessly. 

_No, no, please stop, please…go away, why are you doing this to me, this wasn’t supposed to happen, everything was supposed to be over…_

“Didn’t I tell you?” Jerome, or Jerome’s voice, continued, and Jeremiah flinched at the sound, trying to find him, trying to find a way to escape this. “You’re _ready_ now. I hope I did get to tell you, cause if you’re hearing this, then I'm dead. Poor me, right?”

He crumpled to the floor, his back pressed up against the table leg, curling in on himself as he tried to hide from the voice that was all around him. Jerome was dead, but this was still him, this was part of his plan, and now he was…

“But it also means I've won.” his brother continued with a laugh. “It means I’ve finally made you into who you’re meant to be. This is just the last little step of the process. So bear with me here, okay? We wouldn’t want this to go wrong when you’ve come so far.”

He wanted Jerome to stop talking, he wanted to get up and run out of the room, to go find a way to clear away the burning pain that was working its way through his entire body now, and it felt like fire was running through his bloodstream, paralyzing him, breaking him down. 

_Jerome, please stop it, leave me alone, you can’t do this…_

A broken sob escaped his lips as he heard his brother’s next words, which he slowly realized were coming from a small speaker attached to the side of the jack-in-the-box’s head. “I may be dead, but it doesn’t matter, because now Gotham has _you._ You, brother dear, are going to carry on for me. Be everything I never was. You are going to show this city the meaning of power, because _you_ will be the one in control of them all. Exciting, isn’t it?” His words were interrupted by another laugh, and Jeremiah’s breath hitched, stuttering in his chest as he pressed his hands to the side of his head, because the pain wasn't as bad as having to hear Jerome’s voice saying those things to him.

“Gotham,” Jerome continued, “is my gift to you. Do whatever you want with it, but show them who you are. If you burn it down, let them know it was you. If you kill the people one by one, tell them who you are while you do it. Don't let them forget your name."

_If you kill them…_

His mouth twitched at the corners, turning up for the briefest of seconds, and Jeremiah pressed his hand to his lips, eyes flying wide open.

_It’s not funny, none of this is funny…_

But somehow, the sob that caught in his throat almost sounded like a broken, distorted laugh. And when he pictured himself standing over a pile of dead bodies in an alley, the knife in his hand dripping with blood, he thought he was smiling.

_You can't think that, it's wrong, it’s not how you’re supposed to think…_

_That isn’t you._

“Stop.” he whispered aloud, his voice cracking and throat stinging as if he had swallowed acid. “Stop, please…”

_Bruce. Think about Bruce. He wouldn't want this to happen._

_But it_ is _happening, it's already happened, you can’t go back, no matter what Bruce wants, because it’s too late, it’s too late and Jerome’s going to take over._

His chest heaved with heavy sobs and the burning pain that smoldered under his skin never lessened, never stopped. He couldn’t think of anything else, couldn't think about Bruce because then he would feel guilty for messing up so badly, for being such an _idiot_ and not realizing that Jerome wouldn’t give up so easily.

_He's going to drive you insane._

Jeremiah shuddered, then froze again as he heard his twin’s voice continue to speak.

“Do whatever it takes for them to remember you, Jeremiah. _Whatever_ it takes. Don’t fight who you’re supposed to be.”

_He can’t, he can’t do that, he can’t make you someone you aren’t, that’s up to you, no matter what he does he can't change you. You're the only one who can do that._

The next thought crashed through his head without warning, a harsh accusation.

_Does that mean you're already insane?_

Jerome was laughing now, and it sounded too close, it sounded like he was _right there_ in front of him, and Jeremiah shrank back against the table, shivering all over and blinking away the tears staining his face, which was deathly pale. 

_Where are you, where are you, where are you…_

And Jerome kept laughing, he wouldn't stop, and Jeremiah knew he really _was_ there, because he heard the laughter, it was _real,_ not just a nightmare, not just his imagination or the fake Jerome his mind had conjured up for the past three years, the laugh was real, and it was so close, so terribly close…

He was shaking, tremors rushing through his shoulders and hands as he recoiled from the laughter, and he felt breathless for some reason, as if he had been running from something, but he had been here the entire time so that couldn’t be it…

_Why are you doing this, why couldn’t you leave me alone, why are you here again?_

The laughter continued, and Jeremiah gasped in a breath, finally looking up, trying to see Jerome. But his brother wasn’t there, he was alone in the room.

Jerome wasn’t here, he hadn’t been here at all…

_He_ wasn’t laughing.

Jeremiah felt another rasping giggle rise in his throat.

_No, no, please no…_

_It can’t be you, it can’t be, it's not supposed to be you, you were supposed to escape from him for good, because he's dead, you were going to be free…_

He was laughing again, and crying, too, and he still couldn’t breathe. The smoke around him began to clear, but he didn’t move, _couldn’t_ move. His hands twitched helplessly as he closed his eyes tightly and tried to stop laughing, tried to control it. 

_He said you would be in control, Jerome said you would, don’t let him win, don't let him beat you…_

_You can’t become him._

_Bruce won’t be your friend anymore, he’ll leave you, you can’t let that happen, you can’t be alone anymore…_

“Then don’t let him leave.” the voice in his head whispered harshly, and Jeremiah wasn’t sure at first if it was the voice or his own thoughts, because he couldn’t think straight and everything was confusing him and he was scared, he wanted this to end, he wanted to go back to before this had happened, to start over…

“You’re better than that." the voice gritted, sounding angry now. “You have to be better than that, because you can't go back. Accept that, and it will make you stronger.”

_I can't let this happen, I can't let him do this to me…_

“Jerome is doing nothing. He's dead. Whatever happens now is just you, only you, Jeremiah. This isn't him anymore.”

_But I want it to stop, I just want all this to go away…_ His thoughts were getting mixed up, weaker, and he couldn't find the right words because the voice was laughing at him now, mocking him, trying to show him the truth.

“ _This_ is your evolution. You always knew you would become this someday. You tried to fight it because you didn’t understand, you couldn't accept who you really were. But now you don't have any other option but to go forward. Only a coward would try to avoid their own fate."

Jeremiah gulped in a shivering breath, shaking his head. “I don't want to…” he murmured, his voice rasping in his throat. 

“You don’t have a choice."

_I thought this was going to end._

_I thought it was over._

_But there’s nowhere to hide now, because everything you’re afraid of, everything you’ve tried to run from, it’s you, now. It's taking over you._

_You can’t fight it, it’s too late…_

He ducked his head, listening to his own hoarse breathing, the only sound in the room. Jerome’s voice had faded away, and it was too quiet now, because he could hear his thoughts and didn’t want to.

He felt the laughter edge its way into his mind again, and shut his mouth tight, lips burning against each other and jaw aching. _You have to stay in control._

His thoughts wandered in and out like a radio report laced with static, unable to stay on any subject for longer than a few seconds. He could almost feel his mind tearing itself apart, ripping at the seams as he struggled to keep it together.

But a part of him, the part he didn’t want to acknowledge, knew that it was useless to try.

_It’s too late for you now._

When he lifted his head, there was something lurking behind the sheen of tears that glistened in his red-rimmed eyes. 

Something that glowed dark and dangerous and strangely calm, counteracting the way the muscles in his pale face twitched and the way his lips trembled with the fractured imitation of laughter, something that swallowed up the years of paranoia and fear and terror of Jerome.

If Jeremiah could have seen it, even he wouldn’t have understood what it meant yet.

Because he was still afraid, still trembling with pain and exhaustion, and when he tried to breathe, his throat felt raw and torn, as if the laughter that had forced itself out had ripped it apart. His eyes, which had always been completely identical to Jerome’s, looked different, bloodshot and glazed over, the pupils no more than pinpricks of black. The color, too, seemed to change…the dark brown was beginning to fade away, leaving behind an unnatural silvery hue. He blinked, eyelids heavy, and wrapped his arms tightly around himself, sudden fatigue sweeping over him. As he leaned his head back against the the leg of the table, another laugh shuddered in his chest and he swallowed hard, wincing.

_Control it._

_You have to control it._

He stared with hooded eyes at the jack-in-the-box that lay on its side on the edge of the desk. The clown’s face sneered back, mocking him, and Jeremiah looked away. 

_You’re in control._

_Jerome is dead, and you don’t have to do what he wants._

_You are not Jerome._

“You’re something better.” the voice in his head murmured. “You know you always have been.”

He looked down at his hands, watching the way they slowly stopped trembling. Maybe it was just the light in the room, or maybe it was his eyes, but something looked different about them.

His mind flashed back to the nightmare he'd had, the one with him and Bruce on the rooftop…or the ledge…whatever it had been. He couldn’t remember. How it had seemed like everything had lost its color, and he hadn’t understood any of it, but that was because it was a _dream,_ it wasn't rational…

And this was real.

But he _was_ on the edge now, trying to keep his balance, trying to keep himself from plummeting into the darkness. He couldn’t fall, he couldn’t let himself give in, he’d tried for so long to stay away from the darkness, to keep it from consuming him…

_Now there’s no one to save you._

_No one to pull you back from the edge._

_You're alone now, completely alone, no one is here to help…_

He remembered Bruce from the nightmare, the way he had looked at him, the way Jeremiah knew he had been so angry even when he couldn’t see his friend’s face, because it was hidden in darkness.

But not _this_ kind of darkness…not this terrible, crushing weight that was pulling Jeremiah down, so strong that he couldn't even hope to get out.

He could only try to control it.

Bruce's words from the nightmare came back to him, a harsh whisper that sounded nothing and everything like Bruce all at once.

_“What did you want us to be?”_

_Not this._ he wanted to say, if he could speak. _I didn't want to be this._

But it was too late now to go back. 

Jeremiah got to his feet unsteadily, hands closing around the corner of the table. Burning pain shot through his palms and he laughed again, the sound choking off to nothing but he didn't try to stifle it this time. 

It was too hard to try and hide it.

And he had to admit, it _was_ a little bit funny. 

Just a little bit.

His wandering gaze came to focus on the energy reactor on the table in front of him, and Jeremiah stared at it, reaching over to switch it on. He watched, mesmerized, as the wires buzzed and sparked, the circuits completing and the blue glow of the invention flickering to life. It was still unstable, still dangerous, but there was potential.

He smiled, his lips dry and cracked, and pinprick drops of blood welled up where the skin broke. His eyes reflected the blue light, the silver irises completely overtaking any remains of the former brown. They looked cold, almost serpentine, and his smile was cold too.

A shudder of pain ran through him again, and Jeremiah tried to ignore it. To tell the truth, he was getting used to it. He hadn't expected that, but who was he to complain? He was still unsteady, and his vision was still blurring in and out, but his heartbeat had begun to calm slightly and his thoughts didn’t feel so jumbled.

_Maybe you’re going to be okay._

He wasn’t sure what to do now…at the moment, all he wanted to do was close his eyes and fall asleep where he was. But his mind wouldn’t let him rest; it was racing, piecing ideas together that Jeremiah couldn’t quite understand yet, but he didn’t care. He kept staring at the energy converter on the table. 

“Don’t you feel it now?” the voice in his head asked in the silence. “Who you really are?”  
He felt nothing…didn't feel the fear had begun to fade away to a whisper in the back of his mind, the guilt for letting this happen, and he wasn't even thinking about Jerome anymore. He wasn't thinking about the emptiness he’d felt when he'd seen his brother fall from the roof, not about the horror of opening the gift he’d been so sure was from Bruce, not about the fact that _no one could ever know about this,_ not even Bruce, _especially_ not Bruce, because he couldn’t understand yet, he wouldn't understand, and Jeremiah couldn't afford to lose him.

In the moment, he thought of none of that.

He only heard the last words his brother had spoken over the recording over and over again in his head, skipping like a broken record in a broken mind, and he forgot about the tears that still ran down his face, forgot about the burning that rushed through his veins, because there was only one thing he could know, one thing he could understand.

_"Do whatever it takes for them to remember you, Jeremiah.”_

He blinked, the bright light from the prototype hurting his eyes, but he couldn’t look away. Slowly, he breathed in, loosening his grasp on the table and letting his hands fall limply to his sides. He didn't want to smile, but it crossed his face anyway, tired and resigned, and Jeremiah found that he didn’t really care if it did.

Because he wasn't worried anymore that it would be like Jerome.

That _he_ would be like Jerome.

If Jerome had ever been sane, he would have let something like this drive him off the deep end, would have let it take control of him and manipulate him until he forgot who he was. He would have _reveled_ in the madness, and would have lost himself completely.

Jeremiah wasn’t like that. He’d _survived_ this. He hadn’t let it do anything to him…he hadn’t been turned into a rabid, giggling lunatic like Jerome had wanted him to be. He’d fought whatever this was, and now he was the one in control. He _was_ still sane, just as sane as ever, and Jerome had failed for the last time.

His smile grew at the thought.

Really, it was almost humorous. With his final, greatest failure, Jerome had opened his brother’s eyes to the reality that had been there all along. The truth Jeremiah should have… _would_ have realized years and years ago, if Jerome hadn’t been so intent on the belief that they would be the same, that they would share the same madness.

Jeremiah would _never_ become like his brother. He would never turn into the monster Jerome had been, because he was stronger than that, he knew how to stay in control.

And most importantly, he wouldn’t be a failure.

Not like Jerome.

Because whatever this was, whatever nasty trick his twin had tried to play on him…it hadn’t worked. Jeremiah didn’t feel insane…he _wasn’t_ insane, never had been, never would be. He forgot about the way he’d used to be so terrified that the voices in his head were an indication of madness, forgot how he used to argue with himself on whether or not he truly was like Jerome, forgot about how his brother, three years ago, had pushed him to the breaking point and Jeremiah had killed him. 

That all meant nothing…he was still here, wasn't he? In perfect control of his thoughts, most of the time, at least, and as rational as ever. 

“I’ll show them.” he murmured. He paused, listening to his own voice, realizing with a jolt of surprise that it was the same as the one in his head. 

The voice that had been ensnared in his thoughts for so long that he'd begun to take it for granted.

Except now it wasn't trapped among his thoughts anymore, it was _free_. And he wasn’t scared.

He didn't _have_ to be scared, because now he understood. He knew the voice was _him_. Who he was supposed to be…he was still the same person he’d always been, of course, still wholly and unquestionably sane…but now he knew that he didn't have to hide that part of himself, didn’t have to hide the darkness.

Why should he? Bruce had the same darkness in him, and _he_ had no issue showing it. Jeremiah had seen it in his friend, time and time again.

If Bruce could do it, then he could as well.

He didn't need to hide the darkness now because he could _control_ it. 

Just like everything else.

“I’ll show them.” he repeated, half-savoring the familiar tone that he could finally hear aloud, no longer hidden away…it felt _right,_ no longer just a part of him. It _was_ him, completely, and he truly wasn’t afraid of it any longer.

Why had he been in the first place?

Maybe once he had thought it sounded cruel, even malicious. But now Jeremiah knew that wasn't right. It wasn’t right at all. There wasn't any cruelty in his voice…he wasn’t like that.

“I’ll make sure they remember me.” His voice was still hoarse from the toxin, and he tasted the blood staining his lips, but he didn’t care. It had ceased to matter.

A lot of things had.

His hand snaked over the outline of the generator again, and he watched, mesmerized, as the blue light suddenly switched to red. It began blinking furiously, and Jeremiah knew that meant it was overloading, about to explode at any moment.

Without any real hurry, he reached over to switch it off, and the light died down. He was left in the darkness again.

He’d always been afraid of the dark, ever since he was very young. But he didn’t mind it now. It felt _friendly..._ welcoming, like someone reaching out to protect him, to hold him and keep him safe from everything around him, and Jeremiah smiled again. His eyes gleamed as he stared at nothing.

_They will always remember me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, we're finally here! Time to go crazy clown mode...
> 
> Like I mentioned, there's probably only going to be like one more chapter to this particular installment of this series, so once it's finished up, I'll begin posting the continuation in a separate fic that'll pick up where this one leaves off.
> 
> Let me know what you think of the chapter! Hope ya liked it :)


	27. The Last Laugh

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

 

The sound of the phone on the desk beginning to ring broke the silence, and Jeremiah woke up with a start. For a long moment, he stared around the room, trying to remember where he was and what had happened. He was in the workshop…the lights were off and he was curled up on the ground beside the table that held the generator prototype…his eyes traveled to the desk as he listened dazedly to the ringing phone, then he noticed the overturned jack-in-the-box lying on its side. 

And then Jeremiah remembered. 

He remembered _everything_.

Panic flooded his expression and he struggled to get up, body refusing to cooperate and movements stiff, uncoordinated. He gritted his teeth in frustration, dragging himself up as he held onto the corner of the table until he was standing, his entire body aching all over. He remembered how Jerome had attacked him, and wondered with vague annoyance if any of his ribs were bruised…that wouldn’t be very pleasant.

Then his eyes widened as he remembered _that,_ too. Apparently his memory wasn’t working as well as he’d thought it was.

Jerome was dead.

He was really, truly dead.

_How could you have forgotten that?_

Maybe it was the effects of the toxin still wearing off. That was what Jeremiah decided to tell himself…after all, it had taken a little while to recover from the ordeal last night, and he could still feel a faint burning sensation that smoldered beneath his skin. It was difficult to get his eyes to focus and they felt unnaturally heavy, and his lips were uncomfortably parched.

But all in all, the toxin hadn’t _really_ done anything. If it had, he wouldn’t be able to think as clearly as he was. He wouldn’t be able to control how he felt…he would be like Jerome. 

And it was unquestionably evident that that was _not_ the case. 

He had never felt more removed from Jerome in his life.

The thought made Jeremiah smile. It wasn’t a very nice smile either, there was nothing very humorous about it…more of a vengeful sort of satisfaction. But, he told himself, he _did_ have good cause to be satisfied…Jerome, in his final moments, had proved the truth: that he would never succeed in his goal.

And that no matter what he did, he would never turn Jeremiah into what he had been.

Even after everything that had happened, such a thought warranted a smile.

The phone had stopped ringing, but he didn’t notice. He barely remembered it had started in the first place. Right now, he was too preoccupied with what had happened last night. Of course, he wasn’t worried that the toxin would affect him…he’d overcome it so quickly that there couldn’t possible be any delayed reactions. He was all right now, if a little worse for the wear, and things would return to normal soon enough.

He wasn’t going back, though. He wasn’t going to return to who he used to be…it was clear now that he would never accomplish anything skulking around in this underground prison, hiding away from everyone. He wasn’t exactly sure _how_ he would going to change that, but he knew one thing for certain: he couldn’t become his old self again. 

It was much to late to return to who he used to be.

And as much as he didn't want to admit it, the thought was a little frightening. He didn’t _want_ to be scared of this…it was a _good_ change, he was sure of that, a necessary one…but it also meant that he didn’t know what would come next, what was going to happen to him. He always relied on being impeccably prepared for everything (although it seemed like more often than not, things would end up badly anyway, but that was usually how his luck went) and he had no idea what lay ahead of him. The thought scared him more than he wanted to admit, and was immediately followed by the usual reaction he had to being afraid: he thought about Bruce.

How would he explain all this to his friend? It was easy enough to convince himself that the toxin had failed—he’d been the one to experience the effects firsthand, and he _knew_ he was going to be all right eventually, he couldn’t possibly be anything else—but convincing Bruce would be another thing entirely. Somewhere, buried deep in his mind, was the neverending fear that Bruce might leave him. Give up on him. And if he learned about this…

Jeremiah leaned on the table, letting his head hang as he closed his eyes. He wouldn’t tell Bruce yet. Not quite yet. He needed to figure out the right things to say first. Had to make sure he wouldn’t lose his friend forever, because Bruce belonged to _him._

In the meantime…

_What was it you were going to do again?_

His gaze lifted to the generator prototype, his hand ghosting over the folded blueprint that lay on the table. It had the directions to fix the final problems that had been causing the invention to overload, directions he had worked out just a few days before. But so much had happened that he had nearly forgotten about them…only now, staring down at the creased sheet of paper, did he remember.

_You should get around to making those changes, shouldn’t you?_

Suddenly, he remembered Ecco. Not that he had ever forgotten her (because he was thinking just as clearly as he ever did, he _was,_ things were just a little mixed up right now, probably exhaustion and nothing more, right?) but she hadn’t been on his mind until now. Jeremiah found it hard to believe it was only two days before that Jerome had shot her. His jaw tightened, and the motion sent a spasm of pain through his face.

_Dammit, that stuff’s annoying._ He shot a look at the jack-in-the-box on the desk, wondering how long it would take for the lingering effects to wear off. Telling anyone else was out of the question, they wouldn’t understand, and most likely wouldn’t be able to help him anyway, and all he could do was wait for it to go away.

Because it _would_ go away, it would, there was no question…

He drew in a shivering breath. Right. Ecco. He couldn’t forget about her. Even if he couldn’t call the police or explain what had happened, he couldn’t let a dead body rot in his home… _that_ would be something an insane person would do, and look at him, he was clearly not insane because he wasn’t going to let that happen.

_You’re not insane._

He missed Ecco terribly, and hated Jerome for what he had done. It wasn’t that dark, burning hatred he’d felt the day before…this was something different, something melancholy and hopeless. He couldn’t _do_ anything about it, he had been too late to help her. It was his fault she had died…

_No…not your fault. You weren’t the one who pulled the trigger. You couldn’t have saved her, not without getting yourself killed. And a lot of help you would have been to her if that had happened._

_It wasn’t your fault._

_It was Jerome. Just Jerome. He’s the one with blood on his hands. He deserves the blame._

Jeremiah hadn’t thought about it like that until now, but he wasn’t going to argue. And it did make sense…why hadn’t he seen that before? It was so simple, and the guilt that had filled him was now gone, as if it had never existed.

Because it wasn’t his fault. Mostly, anyway…he _had_ put too much faith in the capabilities of the maze house, overestimated how safe it was. After all this time, it had let him down.

Something whispered in the back of his mind, _Maybe it’s time to build a new one._

He blinked slowly, his shoulders aching as he struggled to hold himself upright still, and he wondered if he had even slept at all last night, or simply passed out after being sprayed by the toxin. He was exhausted, either way, and desperately wanted to go to sleep.

But first, he needed to figure out his own thoughts.

_Build a new one,_ he mused, his gaze traveling to the countless sketches of mazes and labyrinths that crowded the walls of the workshop. _A new one, a better one…_

But where? This place was his home, it was a home _Bruce_ had given him, he couldn’t simply throw it all away.

_Why not? It’s served its purpose, and now you know it doesn’t work well enough. There’s no harm in destroying something if you’re going to build something better…something more effective._

_Don’t be afraid to evolve._

It would have to be another maze, that was a given. Somewhere _safe_. Even with Jerome gone, even with the newfound confidence that seemed to rush through his bloodstream like the burning residual pain from the toxin, he still preferred something safe, something secure. Yes, it would certainly have to be a maze…

But then, how would Gotham remember him if all he did was lock himself up in another underground home?

How would he show Bruce that he would never be forgotten…that he never _could_ be forgotten?

Jeremiah pursed his lips, disappointed in himself. Why was it so hard to figure out some sort of compromise? He was a genius, after all…this should have been a cinch. So why couldn’t he do it? Why was nothing coming to mind, and couldn’t things be easy for him, just for once, why did they always have to be so goddamn _difficult…_

He didn’t realize how erratic his breathing was, how tightly he was holding onto the edge of the table, until black spots began to dance in front of his eyes. Jeremiah purposefully slowed each breath, trying not to hyperventilate, because this was nothing to get upset about. It was _ridiculous_ to be so agitated about something so easy to fix.

But somehow, he couldn’t convince himself to calm down.

_Stay in control, stay in control, stay in control…_

His vision was becoming unfocused again, and his throat felt dry. A high, frantic giggle slipped out before he could stop himself, and he felt his eyes burning, he felt the control falling away no matter how hard he tried to hold on…

_You’re okay. You have to be okay._ He imagined Bruce saying the words to him, imagined his friend was here to comfort him, imagined he wasn’t all alone in the dark, trying to hold back the irrational anger that welled up in him for no reason…no logical reason…whatsoever.

_Bruce wouldn’t let you fall._

_He’s always been there…always._

He felt the control coming back, the trembling throughout his body fading away. He had no idea what he would do without Bruce…his friend wasn’t even here and he was still helping Jeremiah push back the dark. Still helping him remember who he was supposed to be.

His thoughts turned back to the problem at hand. He couldn’t stay in this place much longer, it was riddled with bad memories and fear and guilt that he couldn’t quite suppress, even now. It was a monument to who he had once been, and that meant he had to destroy it as quickly as possible. He didn’t need any more reminders of that pathetic, helpless, _weak_ person he used to be.

That time was passed.

_So you can’t stay here. But where will you go?_

He absentmindedly folded the corners of the blueprint over on themselves, staring blankly at the wall. It would be simple enough if all he had to do was rebuild some place like this…he’d made enough money working at Wayne Enterprises and had enough maze designs at his disposal to make it happen with relative ease. But if he did that, would anything really change? Would he ever get the chance to be remembered by this city if he stayed hidden away? 

Somehow he didn’t think that would happen.

_You’re smart. You’ll find a way. You have to._ For a moment, he felt that spark of anger flare up inside him again, and fought to calm it down. This would take patience, and it would take time, but Jeremiah had plenty of that. 

_Bruce would believe in you. He’d believe you could solve this problem._

That made him feel a bit better, and he allowed himself a tiny smile, pushing the blueprint to the side and turning away from the prototype. He had plenty of time to work this out, plenty of time to perfect whatever plan he came up with. It couldn’t be that difficult…he was smart enough to figure out what to do.

_Just give it time._

His gaze snapped up as a muffled sound came from the other side of the workshop door, and his shoulders tensed. For a moment, he thought maybe it was Jerome, come back for him, really going to kill him this time, but then rationality took over and he remembered his twin was dead.

_And even if he wasn’t, he wanted to drive you insane. That was all he ever wanted, and if he thought he succeeded, he would leave you alone._

So it couldn’t be Jerome, he decided, that much was obvious. But who was it, then? The motion sensor alarm at the front door hadn’t gone off, so it wasn’t Bruce, stopping by to check on him.

The thought brought a shadow to his face. Bruce hadn’t done _anything_ to make sure he was okay. Not even after Jeremiah followed him to almost certain death less than twenty-four hours ago. _That_ wasn’t very grateful of him, was it?

He’d forgotten about the phone call he’d ignored, didn’t know who had been on the other line, and right now it didn’t matter because his thoughts were turning back to the matter at hand: someone was in the bunker. On the other side of the door. Jeremiah backed away. He _wasn’t_ scared, he tried to convince himself, and the shiver that raced through him wasn’t from fear…it had to just be a reaction to the toxin or something.

Because he had nothing to be afraid of, and he wasn’t going to let himself be afraid.

Fear wasn’t something he could control. And so he had to remove it from his mind.

Now he could hear the keypad outside in the hall being activated and the faint beeping of the code being punched in. Jeremiah moved to the other side of the table. No one knew the combination but him…Ecco had known, but it obviously wasn’t her outside the door. He’d seen what Jerome had done, and the memory made him shudder. If he was the sort to be prone to insanity, that was the kind of thing that would drive him off the brink.

Fortunately, he wasn't like that.

_Focus. Stop letting your mind wander._

_Stay in control._

Jeremiah’s eyes widened as the door slid open, revealing the hallway on the other side. He twisted his hands together, feeling the threat of laughter burning in his back of his throat. He choked it down, because he wasn’t going to be like Jerome, he wasn’t going to respond to every situation like that _idiot_ had. 

Laughter was just a shield for Jerome, it was just his way of avoiding his problems, avoiding reality. Jeremiah knew better than that…he knew better than anyone that running from his fears and issues wouldn’t do any good. If it had, he never would have happened across Jerome from the time he left the circus. 

The only choice was to face reality.

He stepped forward tentatively, waiting to see who had keyed in the password and who was standing in the hall beyond the door. He vaguely remembered there being a time when he would have cowered away in the corner, terrified out of his mind at the uncertainty of what was happening, at who had found their way into his home, but now, he felt almost indifferent.

After all, it couldn’t be worse than when Jerome had been here.

Nothing could be worse than that.

Jeremiah straightened up, holding onto one of the blueprints that lay strewn on the table as if that would shield him from whatever intruder had entered the house. His heart was beating fast, but he didn’t feel scared.

Relatively, at least.

Still, when a familiar figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the light behind them which contrasted the dark of the workshop, but unmistakable nonetheless, Jeremiah gasped sharply, the paper in his hands crumpling in his grip. He stared, not knowing what else to do, not knowing what to say, because just moments before he had been so fixated on remaining reasonable, rational about whatever happened to him…

And there was no rational explanation for this.

But he knew what… _who…_ he was seeing, and it only served to add the final layer of confusion to his turbulent mind, broke apart the last lingering pieces that held some semblance of his former self together, because he no longer understood anything that was happening, and somehow, he didn’t really care anymore.

The old Jeremiah would have cared, would have either dissolved into fear at what he was seeing or gone on some harried downward spiral to try and figure everything out.

But that Jeremiah was gone.

So he only stood in the silence, stock-still and watching as the figure stepped inside unsteadily, one hand gripping the doorframe and head tilted in disorientation. He watched as her eyes swept over the dark room, finally coming to rest on his face, and he saw those eyes widen as she took in the altered features before her. 

When she spoke, her voice was oddly pitched, as if she wasn’t quite sure how she was supposed to sound, like she had forgotten. But it was undoubtedly _her_ voice, there was no denying that.

“Jeremiah?”

She only spoke the one word, but there was so much devotion, so much _reverence_ in it that it brought a genuine smile to his face this time, because _that_ was what he wanted, that was what he _needed,_ not just from her, but from _all_ of Gotham, they all needed to see he wasn’t crazy, like Jerome, he wasn’t like his brother…he was something better, something greater, and they would never be able to forget him. Not this city, not the GCPD, not Arkham, not _anyone._

Especially not Bruce.

_Everyone_ would remember.

His smile lingered, curled up the corners of his mouth, shone like a light in his eyes for a moment, and if he had seen himself, he would have thought he looked just like Jerome, just as Jerome had when he’d finally provoked Jeremiah into killing him in that penthouse three years ago.

In that moment, they truly were identical.

And then the moment was gone, and his features smoothed out although the smile hadn’t quite disappeared. He set down the blueprint, folding the corners up again, but never let his eyes leave her face. He wasn’t sure how this had happened, or why, or if it was even real, but he couldn’t let any of that show. He couldn’t let anyone know if he was ever unsure about anything…they would think he wasn’t in control, and that simply wasn’t true.

So he kept his expression neutral, his eyes guarded and almost withdrawn, and they stared at each other in the silence; both uncertain, and both waiting for the other to make the first move.

Finally, Jeremiah cleared his throat and began shuffling the papers into order, because it was the only thing he could do to feel normal. His voice felt too loud in the quiet, but that didn’t matter because at least it felt calm, it sounded perfectly composed, perfectly natural, and he could finally believe he _was_ in control again.

“Hello, Ecco.”

 

_\+ + + + + +_

 

“He didn’t answer.” Bruce stared dejectedly at the phone sitting silently on the receiver. He’d been sitting at the desk for the past half hour, waiting patiently for Jeremiah to return his missed call, but it never came. At first he hadn’t worried, but as the minutes ticked past and there was still no response, his unease began to build. He’d asked Alfred if he should go by the bunker to make sure things were all right, but the butler had assured him that Jeremiah was most likely perfectly fine and Bruce should give him space after so much had happened in the last day. Bruce had reluctantly agreed, although part of him wished he hadn’t…he knew Jeremiah well enough to be fully aware that he didn’t like to be alone, especially if something had upset him. Still, he decided to wait a little while longer before going to the bunker, even if his instincts told him otherwise.

Selina, who had dropped by to keep him company, lazily unfurled the whip she was holding, experimentally cracking it through the air and narrowly missing the helmet that sat on the suit of armor in the corner of the room. “Bruce, it’s eight in the morning. He’s probably still asleep. Honestly, I’m surprise _you_ aren’t…how are you not conked out after everything that happened yesterday?”

Bruce shrugged, staring out the window. “I wish I didn’t let him go back home alone. I shouldn’t have done that.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What exactly were you gonna do? Drag him back here and lock him in for the night?”

“I could at least make sure he had a police escort. Jerome almost killed him, and I just let him go off by himself.”

“Bruce, you’re not responsible for what he does. And I’m sure he’s fine. You don’t need to look out for him all the time, you know.”

Bruce did know that, and he knew Jeremiah depended on him far too much to take care of himself…it wasn’t healthy for his friend, he knew, and it wasn’t going to help him learn how to get by on his own, but Bruce didn’t know what else to do. It was too late to back out now. 

And despite Selina’s words, he _did_ feel responsible. He was the one who had gotten Jeremiah mixed up in his problems before, and the least he could do was to protect him now. 

Even if he couldn’t change the things he’d done, he could try to keep them from happening again.

“And anyway, he’s got Ecco.” Selina continued, completely unaware of the events that had transpired in the bunker two nights before. “He’s not totally alone.”

Bruce sighed, finally getting up from the desk and moving to pace across the room restlessly. Selina watched the expression on his face, the emotions that placed across it. “What’s wrong now?” she asked, a little impatiently. She still hadn’t spoken to Jeremiah ever since that day he’d acted so strangely toward her…she wouldn’t say she was afraid to face him again, because _she_ wasn’t the sort prone to cowardice…no, she was just cautious _._

There had been something in his eyes that day that Selina didn’t like.

Bruce had never even considered comparing Jeremiah to his brother, never hinted he believed he could share that insanity, but skepticism was second nature to Selina. And sometimes, she couldn’t help but wonder if Jeremiah really was as stable as Bruce believed he was. Occasionally, in recent months, she would catch a glimpse of something in his expression that hadn’t always been there, something that sparked a flash of unease in the back of her mind. She didn’t _want_ anything to happen to Jeremiah, didn’t want to see him caught in a downward spiral into madness, but she couldn’t help but notice the changes that weren’t there before.

And then, when he had told her to leave the bunker, she had seen a new side altogether, and _that_ had worried her. 

So to hear Bruce go on and on endlessly about Jeremiah, completely oblivious to (or ignoring, she thought) those slow but clear changes was a bit irritating.

“Nothing’s wrong.” he finally responded, catching her gaze as she fidgeted with the whip in her hands. Selina rolled her eyes.

“Work on your lying skills, Bruce. I know something’s bothering you.”

It was, but Bruce didn’t know how to explain it. Couldn’t find words to describe the strange sense of foreboding that lurked beneath his thoughts, twisting its way into everything that crossed his mind. There wasn’t anything for him to be worried about anymore…Jerome was gone for good, the disaster with the toxin in the blimp had been averted, and both he and Jeremiah had escaped the entire situation alive. 

But he couldn’t push away that creeping, quiet dread.

And he couldn’t even begin to explain it, because even he didn’t know what it was for.

So he gave Selina the most convincing smile he could manage, his gaze dropping away from her face to the floor, and shook his head, wishing he, too, could believe the words he spoke aloud.

“Really, nothing’s wrong.”

 

\+ + + + + + 

 

Jeremiah had to admit, trying to look unshakably composed was a difficult charade to keep up. Especially when his mind was spinning with confusion and questions and a significant amount of disorientation still…he felt his face twitch and hoped his eyes weren’t betraying any of it. He _had_ to stay calm, because it was the only way to prove he wasn’t insane, that he wasn’t going to turn into something like Jerome. Even if he knew that already, he still had to prove it to other people.

“Other people” being Ecco, who was still standing in the doorway and, despite what had happened right in front of Jeremiah just two days ago, was very much alive.

And now he no longer knew what to believe.

_Why does everything have to be so confusing, why can’t something just make sense for once, just once…_ Jeremiah felt that anger begin to flare up in him again and his shoulders tensed.

“How did you…” he began, then stopped. For a moment, he wondered if Ecco would realize that the voice was now his own, that it wasn’t just in his head anymore…

_Don’t be stupid, you were the only one who knew about the voice. Ecco wasn’t inside your head. She didn’t know anything about it._

He turned back to her, trying again. “I thought…I thought you were dead.” His voice wobbled despite himself, and he reached out to the table to steady himself. “I saw Jerome…”

“I’m not dead.” She sounded equally confused, and just as surprised, as if she hadn’t expected this outcome either. One hand traveled to the stitched-up bullet injury on the side of her neck, prodding it experimentally, and Jeremiah winced. But Ecco’s face didn’t change. “Guess he missed the important bits.” A tiny smile crept across her mouth and she shook her head slowly. “Think the bullet’s still in there.”

Jeremiah mirrored the smile, not knowing what else to do, then paused when a warning whispered urgently in the back of his mind.

_What if she’s not real?_

His face fell, gaze turning suspicious. He’d seen enough products of his imagination come to life through the years, and, he had to admit, he sometimes believed they were real. He remembered the first time he’d seen Jerome—the one in his mind, anyway—and he’d been so sure his brother was really there…

What if this wasn’t really Ecco?

What if he still wasn’t in control?

Seeing the look on his face, Ecco frowned. “What’s wrong?” Her voice still sounded unnatural, and Jeremiah looked at her almost nervously. “Jeremiah?” She stepped forward, worried eyes scanning his. “Are you okay?”

He unconsciously backed away, fear beginning to strain at the edges of his mind. _You’re in control, you’re in control, she’s real, she’s not just something in your imagination, she can’t be._

_You have to trust yourself on this._

He breathed shakily, and Ecco came closer, standing on the other side of the table. She reached out a hand for him to take, and Jeremiah only stared at it, trying to will himself to move, to accept, but the part of him that still whispered that this was an illusion wouldn’t let him.

It wouldn’t let him risk showing any sign of weakness.

Because he could _never_ be weak again.

“It’s me.” Ecco said quietly, seeming to read his mind. He watched her expression carefully, trying to believe it. Her dark eyes kept going in and out of focus, as if she really had come back from the brink of death and was trying to resume normalcy as best she could…that meant she was real, didn’t it? She wasn’t a hallucination…

“Is it?” Jeremiah replied, his own voice equally soft. He hated the faint tremor that hung in the words, but Ecco didn’t seem to mind. She was staring into his eyes, and for the first time, he realized there was something deeper than devotion in their expression.

Something he’d never seen before, and suddenly he wondered exactly how long it had been there. 

How long she had been looking at him like that, and how long he had never noticed.

He wasn’t sure _what_ it was, couldn’t comprehend how Ecco…how _anyone_ could have any deeper feeling for him apart from friendship, because he’d never known what that was like. He didn’t know how love was supposed to work, how it was supposed to feel. He knew what other things felt like…he understood _fear_ just fine, he knew what loneliness was like, and he had no trouble comprehending jealousy…

It was easy enough to figure out _those_ sort of emotions.

The one thing he didn’t quite understand yet was that terrible, burning hatred that had sparked inside him the day before…it was by far the most powerful thing he’d ever felt, and it made _him_ feel powerful, too. It made him feel stronger, made him feel like something else entirely.

Jeremiah wondered if love was supposed to feel a little bit like that.

He realized with a start that he’d gotten sidetracked again, and Ecco was still staring at him, holding out her hand over the top of the generator prototype. Jeremiah licked his lips nervously, hoping with everything he possessed that she wasn’t an illusion, that he wasn’t giving in to the weaknesses of his own mind again, then reached out his own hand. Her fingers closed around his and his shoulders slumped in relief— _she’s real, she’s real, you’re all right_ —a small laugh escaping before he could stop himself.

Laughter seemed to be becoming the automatic response for him now.

Jeremiah wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

On her part, Ecco didn’t seem to mind at all. She only kept looking at Jeremiah like he was the only thing in the world, their hands twined together as if they both knew they had to hold on to each other if they didn't want to break apart even more. Because they _were_ broken now, there was no denying it, no going back. Jeremiah didn’t _want_ to go back…he wanted to stay like this, wanted to feel in control _(no, not just feel,_ be _in control),_ wanted the chance to be everything he’d ever wanted to be.

Everything he could be.

And Gotham…

Well, Gotham would forget _Jerome_ had ever existed.

Because it was only him now.

_And Bruce. Don’t forget Bruce._

Oh, yes, he would never forget Bruce. There was no danger of that.

From across the table, Ecco reached up to cup his face in her free hand, and Jeremiah flinched back at the touch. It still burned from the toxin, but it wasn’t so bad anymore.

That, or he was getting used to it.

“What happened to you?” Ecco asked, tracing the line of his jaw and staring into his eyes, the color now permanently faded from brown into the unusual silver. Jeremiah hadn't left the workshop since he’d opened the box with the toxin, and hadn't bothered to catch a glimpse of his reflection, but by the look on her face, he must have changed.

He resented Jerome for that, but he wasn't angry. Looks weren't everything, after all. And it didn't matter, because _he_ hadn't really changed. Hadn't gone insane.

That was all that mattered.

“Nothing happened.” he replied after a long pause. “I…”

_I’m not insane._

_Not like Jerome._

“Jerome tried to trick me.” he said finally, gesturing to the discarded jack-in-the-box on the desk. Concern flashed across Ecco’s face. “But it didn't work. He failed, and he's dead now.”

Her eyes widened. “Dead?"

His lips quirked up in another small smile. “Ecco was an apt name for you.” he reflected aloud, then stopped. 

_Did you just make a joke?_

So what if he had? It meant he had a sense of humor, and that was a good thing, right? He didn't have to compare everything he did to Jerome…it was pointless and wouldn't prove anything either way.

Because there was nothing more to prove in the first place.

Ecco seemed to appreciate the comment, humor sparkling in her dark eyes as she kept looking up at him. He didn't know it, but she was overjoyed to see him like this…she was seeing the Jeremiah she'd always knew was hidden inside him, the one who could take command of the things around him, the one who believed in himself. Somehow, in the middle of all this, he had finally become that, and she wouldn't exchange it for anything in the world.

_Maybe it's the bullet talking,_ she thought, _but I think I might really be starting to love him._

Even if she knew he may never notice.

“Yes, he’s dead.” Jeremiah continued, pulling his hand away and staring down at the generator, the light reflecting in his eyes. “You, uh, missed a few things that happened yesterday.” Ecco couldn’t help but notice the shadow that clouded his expression. “But it’s over now.” He sounded more as if he was trying to convince himself than her.

“So you’ve won.” she said in the ensuing silence. He turned away, looking over the drawings of mazes on the wall.

“That’s certainly one way to look at it.” 

“What are you going to do now?” Ecco asked, following him. “Now that Jerome’s gone.”

Jeremiah reached up to adjust his glasses, then realized he wasn’t wearing them. He frowned…he hadn’t noticed that until now, which was strange. He seemed to be forgetting things a little too much for his taste. Like his mind was working against him, fighting him. _It’ll wear off. Just like the other effects did. Give it time._

“Jeremiah…?” his assistant repeated, wondering if he had heard her question. He looked back at her, startled.

“Sorry, did you…”

“Since Jerome is dead,” she twined a loose strand of hair around her finger absently, “what are you going to do? Now that you can do anything.”

The words reverberated in the air between them, and Jeremiah finally began to realize it was true. 

He could do _anything_ he wanted.

Jerome was gone…

Now it was only him. And he could control it all.

They wouldn’t think he was insane, because he wouldn’t become like his brother. And because he _wasn’t_ insane. Jerome had reveled in destruction, but Jeremiah wasn’t that sort of person. He knew the value of destruction when it was necessary—after all, he had had to break down who he used to be in order to become this new version of himself, hadn’t he—but not like Jerome. 

And all of Gotham would see that.

It wouldn’t be long before all memory of Jerome had been eliminated entirely, because this city would have something…some _one…_ better to focus on.

He’d show them all.

His eyes flashed with sudden inspiration. They needed him. Gotham needed him, it needed him to take charge. Why hadn’t he seen that before? He could change this city, make it _his…_

But he couldn’t be alone. No, he would need someone to share it with, wouldn’t he? Otherwise, what was the point of it all? His eyes traveled briefly to Ecco, and he shook his head. She wasn’t quite what he needed…she was loyal, he granted her that, but she didn’t _understand_ him. Not entirely.

There was only one person who could do _that._

There had only ever been one person.

_Bruce._

He smiled.

_We’ll rule this city together. You and me, just like it’s supposed to be. We’ll show them all who we are._

_Just us._

Gotham needed a new face. It had grown complacent in its destruction, accustomed to the madness that ran through the streets. Jeremiah would change that. He’d tear down that residual darkness…it was ready to die, ready to give in to its inevitable termination.

Ready to hand over the power to someone new.

Just like Jerome.

_They’ll forget about Jerome soon enough. Forget he ever existed in the first place. He doesn't matter anymore._

_He never mattered._

Jeremiah traced the lines of one of his mazes on the wall with one finger, something dangerous beginning to burn in his pale eyes. 

_After all this time, Jerome. After all those years of being afraid, of hiding from you, of running away..._

_After you tried to tear me apart, tried to force me to become like you...you failed. You failed, because I would never do that, Jerome. I'm stronger than that, and you never would have succeeded, no matter how hard you tried._

_After everything you did, I finally got the last laugh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: I am /fully/ aware that no one could realistically get up and go about their lives after being shot in the head two days ago but! weirder things have happened in Gotham so just bear with it folks (I also know there's no way the bullet would still be inside Ecco's head, but hey, it's what she says in the show and it's a cool aesthetic so uh why not)
> 
> Anyway!! That's it for this one, hope ya liked the ending chapter. :) I'm going to try to write and post the beginning for the next fic within the next few days (at some point over the weekend it should be up), so keep an eye out for it if you want to see how the rest of the story goes!
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments, and again, I hope you liked this fic :)))


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